Collide
by brickroad16
Summary: A series of one-shot song-fics based on Chuck and Sarah's relationship.
1. Collide

Title: Collide

Rating: T, just to be safe.

Disclaimer: _Chuck_ doesn't belong to me. "Collide" is sung by Howie Day.

A/N: This is part of a series of one-shot song-fics. If you have any song suggestions, let me know. I'm trying to do one story from Chuck's perspective, one from Sarah's, and then alternate. Currently, I've got more songs for Chuck's POV than for Sarah's.

Also, I have a couple more ideas in the works, so hopefully I'll get those out soon. Thanks to the people who reviewed Photos and Favors. I'm glad you liked it! Writing Morgan was fun, and I feel like there should be more Sarah/Morgan interaction in the series.

**

* * *

**

**The dawn is breaking**

**A light shining through**

**You're barely waking**

**And I'm tangled up in you, yeah**

After they spend their first night together, the first thing he registers when he wakes up, even before he opens his eyes, is the feel of her skin against his. She's a curled up into a ball of warmth against him, and he gently pulls her closer to him. She doesn't wake, merely repositions herself unconsciously, burying her head deeper into his shoulder. His smiles as her soft hair tickles his bare chest. Her scent fills his nostrils, and he breathes it in deeply, willing his brain to memorize every nuance of that smell that is uniquely hers – grapefruit, and lavender, and . . . Sarah.

**I'm open, you're closed**

**Where I follow, you'll go**

**I worry I won't see your face**

**Light up again**

Reluctantly, he opens his eyes, not wanting to lose the magic of the moment. But with the dim early morning sunlight streaming through the blinds like that, he can't take his eyes off of her, and he knows he's ten times deeper in this than he was just a split second before. The clock on the bedside table behind her glares at him, the numbers red and angry: 6:38. In his fragile state, he believes it's a reminder of their mistake, their complete and utter lack of judgment. Unsure of how much time they have left, he uses dawn's light to study every feature, every curve of her face.

They can't keep this a secret forever. He'd be a fool to believe that they could. Someone will find out, and someone will care, and someone will tear them apart. But if he can't see her face again, at least he'll have a mental picture of it. He'll be able to remember how her eyes sparkle when he says her name, how her nostrils flare when she's angry, how her mouth tightens when she's trying to hold in her laughter. And that smile. He needs that smile to light up his world.

**Even the best fall down sometime**

**Even the wrong words seem to rhyme**

**Out of the doubt that fills my mind**

**I somehow find**

**You and I **

**Collide**

_He's not sure how it happens, but suddenly they're on her bed tangled up in each other, and instead of yelling at him for the horrible mistake they're about to make, she's giving him permission with each savory kiss. Except it's never just a simple kiss with Sarah. It's always more like a collision. It's a passionate, overwhelming, neither-side's-walking-away-without-any-damages kind of encounter. And truth be told, he'd have it no other way._

**I'm quiet, you know**

**You make a first impression**

**But I've found I'm scared to know **

**I'm always on your mind**

"_Sarah? What are you doing here?" he asks as she appears in the frame of his bedroom window. _

"_I wanted to make sure you were all right," she replies calmly, with the smallest of quavers audible in her voice._

_He grins. It must be the eighth time she's checked on him since he got out of the hospital. They'd been on a mission, and a bullet had grazed his leg. Nothing serious, but he had to get it bandaged up. She had taken him to the emergency room, stuck around until he was all taken care of, driven him home, made up an excuse to stay with him for as long as possible, and called him on the way back to her apartment to make sure he didn't need anything. She's checked in every half-hour since then. Now, it's almost midnight and, instead of getting the rest she needs, she's sitting on his window sill and asking him how he is._

_She knows he's fine. _

_It's in that moment that he realizes just how much of her thoughts he occupies._

**Even the best fall down sometime**

**Even the stars refuse to shine**

**Out of the back you fall in time**

**I somehow find**

**You and I**

**Collide**

_He knows she's done this for years now, and that the job really has hardened her somewhat, but he wishes she would stop acting for one minute and let him comfort her. Their mission the night before had gone wrong somehow, and the man they thought had been the bad guy had been killed. Too late, they found out he hadn't been the bad guy at all. She pretends that it doesn't affect her, but he notices that her step has lost its spring, and that the sparkle in her eyes has dimmed. _

_She pretends, and he can't figure out if it's for his sake or for her own. She's the strong one, he's not arguing with that, but he wants to show her that he can take care of her when she needs to be taken care of, however infrequently that may be. So, despite the fact that it's against all his inner warnings, he shows up at her door unannounced, hoping against all hope that she won't turn him away._

_But she doesn't. _

_When she opens the door, he notices immediately that her eyes are red from crying. Without a word, he gathers her into his arms, winding one arm around her waist and cradling her head with his free hand. She leans into him, sobbing faintly. He strokes her hair, whispers to her, gently kisses her temple. He knows she must hate herself for breaking like this, but right now, the foremost thought in his mind is how right she feels in his embrace. _

**Don't stop here**

**I lost my place**

**I'm close behind**

Lying next to her, their chests rising and falling in unison, he's terrified that he's lost her already. Since they met, he's felt like they've been moving at different speeds. Even if the agency doesn't reassign her, even if it doesn't lock him up for the rest of his life, he still can't stop the sinking feeling that they've had their one night, their one moment when they were finally moving at the same speed, in the same direction. And now they've spent that incautiously.

**Even the best fall down sometime**

**Even the wrong words seem to rhyme**

**Out of the doubt that fills your mind**

**You finally find**

**You and I **

**Collide**

She finally stirs beside him, and wakes with a smile on her face.

"'Morning," she greets him, her voice adorably gravelly.

She instinctively wraps her arms more tightly around his waist, and tilts her head toward his. His lips crash into hers, a stunning supernova in a faint galaxy.

**You finally find**

**You and I**

**Collide**


	2. Where Do I Begin?

Song: "Where Do I Begin?" by Idina Menzel.

* * *

One year.

One year ago, he had calmly appeared in her life. There'd been no burst of fireworks, no cacophonic explosions to command her attention – nothing to grab her by the ears and scream, "_Here_! Here's the guy you've been waiting for! Here's someone who will change your perspective on life!"

She sits on the arm of the easy chair, watching the revelers as they wish him happy birthday. From what he's told her, this party's quite a bit different than the one Ellie threw him last year. He knows more people this time, and he and Morgan haven't tried to escape through his bedroom window – so far.

**Where do I begin, my love?****  
Starting with the things I haven't said enough of  
Starting with the day you changed my life  
And ending with the way I feel tonight**

**Where do I begin?**

Four months.

They've been dating – actually dating – for four months and still she hasn't told him. She's always been a quiet person, but each time she tries to tell him, her mouth goes dry and her mind goes blank, and she usually ends up changing the subject. They're different kinds of people, both of them realize that. She's more action-oriented. She shows him how she feels, whether it's by showing up at his door with chicken soup when he's sick, or always keeping some point of contact between their bodies.

But he, on the other hand, he's a talker. And he's already told her, of course. He told her before their first real date, even. It was his confession that actually sparked their agreement. He's so free with his words that she envies him sometimes, how eloquent he can be. He rambles a lot, says a lot of words without getting his point across, but there are also times that he uses one sentence, or just a few words really, to say so much.

She wants to tell him. She does, but she's got so much to say that she has no idea where to begin, how to make up for the time she's lost by keeping her mouth shut for these past four months.

Tonight. She has to tell him tonight.

As the party-goers dwindle, Sarah works up her courage. "Ellie, do you mind if I borrow Chuck for a while?"

"No! Go right ahead," Ellie responds enthusiastically, a little flushed from the wine she's been drinking.

Sarah turns to Chuck, sitting on the couch with a confused look on his face. She reaches out her hand, which he takes, rising from his seat.

**Where do I belong when you're not here?  
This is way beyond my darkest fear  
I don't know where I end or where I start  
Each mile in between is way too far**

**Where do I begin?**

After debating for a few minutes on where to go, she decides on the beach. He doesn't ask where they're going as they hop into her car. When they arrive at the beach, she slips off her shoes, and wades into the water. She takes his hand, and they walk on the edge of the sand, the cool salty sea washing over their bare feet. He still seems a bit confused, but doesn't question her. So they walk in silence for a while, their toes dragging across the damp sand.

Looking down at their entwined fingers, she wants to tell him she loves his hands, and how gentle and strong they are when he holds her. And that she loves it when he looks straight into her eyes, forcing her to feel a thousand emotions simultaneously. That she loves to run her fingers through his unruly hair, loves it when he runs _his_ fingers through _hers_. That she loves how patient he is, for waiting when she needs to wait, like right now for example. That she loves how he can understand her without a word. That she loves waking up to his voice, and to his smell, and to his warmth. That she loves losing herself in him.

**I've always counted all my blessings  
Knowing you'd defend me  
And stand by my side  
If only I didn't lose my senses  
Each time I intended**

**For these words to come out right**

She wants to tell him that he's this inextricable part of her now. That she can no longer tell where she ends and where he begins. That if they were ever separated, she'd have no idea where to start picking up the pieces of her life. That she used to just be afraid for her life, but now she's afraid for his, too. That her biggest fear is losing him and having to start over without him. That she never feels crazier than she does when she's around him. That she always thought love had a limit, but he's proved her wrong with each passing day. That she'd never been able to trust in or count on anyone until now. That doubting him would be like doubting the sun would rise tomorrow. That he's shattered all her expectations.

**Where do I begin, my love?  
Starting with the morning you brought me the sun  
Starting with the stars from out of space  
You took a few and lit up my face**

**Where do I begin?**

She wants to tell him that she'd been leading a half-life until she met him. That she never even realized it until he opened up so many facets of emotion in her. That she's moody and temperamental, but that he's the only one who can get her to smile through her worst mood. That she never knew she could feel like she held the world in her two hands until he kissed her – really kissed her – for the first time.

**I've always counted all my blessings  
Knowing you'd defend me  
And stand by my side  
If only I didn't lose my senses  
Each time I intended  
For these words to come out right**

She wants to tell him all this.

But when she opens her mouth, all that comes out is: "I . . . I think . . ." She swallows. She's never been this nervous in her life. Taking a deep breath, she pushes the words out as fast as they'll come, "I could be falling in love with you."

It's not as eloquent as she'd like it to be, and less certain than probably he'd like it to be, but there it is. She's said it. He's the only guy who's heard it truthfully from her lips. And even though she wishes she would have said it a bit better, she knows that he understands how weighty this is for her.

**Where do I begin, my love?  
I always read the last page instead of the first one  
Well, there's no need to rush it all in  
I love you and I'll say it again  
Where do I begin?  
Where do I begin?**

**Where should we begin?**

They stop walking, and she would smile at the waves tickling her ankles if she weren't so nervous.

He turns to face her, his warm eyes glowing in the moonlight. When he steps towards her, her eyes close involuntarily at his nearness and her nervousness melts away, slipping into the sea to be washed away by the waves.

He whispers, and his breath is warm in her ear, "That's the best birthday present I've ever gotten."


	3. Come On Get Higher

Song: Come On Get Higher, by Matt Nathanson**  
**

* * *

**I miss the sound of your voice  
And I miss the rush of your skin  
And I miss the still of the silence  
As you breathe out and I breathe in**

He leans on the banister of the pier, watching the sunset.

One year, two months, three weeks, three days.

That's how long he's had to live without her.

He swallows, his mouth dry. He's beginning to lose how she smells, how she feels. The image of her in his mind is fading and fuzzy. He aches for her touch. Squinting against the beams of light, he recalls coming to this pier soon after they began dating for real.

_Still laughing from the arcade, Sarah grabs his hand. They've only been dating for a few weeks, but he still feels sparks when he touches her. She swings their arms between them, and he smiles at the slightly juvenile action from the very mature woman. They wind their way to the edge of the pier, where they find a prime spot for viewing the sunset. _

"_You know, I haven't watched a sunset since high school."_

_He doesn't have to say anything. She doesn't want him to; she just wanted to share something personal with him. In response, he wraps an arm around her shoulders, pulling her in toward him. She nestles into his chest comfortably, like she's been doing this for years and has found her favorite spot. _

_They watch the sunlight spread out over the sky, turning shades of red and orange. The beams strike her face, illuminating it, and he finds he's mesmerized more by her than he is by the view. She notices him staring, and turns to look him in the eye. Their faces are only a few inches apart, and, despite the fact that they've been dating and they've kissed numerous times before, the only thing he hears is the pumping of blood in his ears and the only thing he feels is the rapid pounding of his heart. _

_The sounds of the crowd are washed out, and he can't help noticing that she's as nervous as he is. He leans in slightly, and, despite the fact that there are only two, maybe three inches at most, separating their lips, the closure of that gap seems to be torturously slow. _

**If I could walk on water  
If I could tell you what's next  
I'd make you believe  
I'd make you forget**

Even now, as he stares at the darkening horizon, he's not exactly sure how it happened. Casey, surprisingly, was on their side. He thinks it might have something to do with Ilsa, but somehow – _somehow_ – Beckman and Graham found out and the latter shipped Sarah off on the mission that was located the farthest from Chuck Bartowski. That had been over fourteen months ago, and he hadn't heard a word from her since, not that he had expected to. The night before she left, she made sure he understood that she wouldn't be able to contact him again. They had said all they could that night, without saying anything really.

He comes down to the pier once or twice a week, to pretend that he can erase the last few years of his life, and go back to before he had opened Bryce's e-mail, maybe even before he had gotten kicked out of Stanford. It dulls the pain for a little while, but not nearly long enough. But even as he pretends that he can go back in time, he knows that he could never envision a life in which he never met her. It was as if meeting her had been the point towards which his whole life had been heading. And now that it had passed, he was left directionless.

But even if he could gain a new direction in life by giving up those memories, he wouldn't.

Because his memories of her are all he has left.

**So come on, get higher, loosen my lips  
Faith and desire and the swing of your hips  
Just pull me down hard  
And drown me in love**

_Tonight's their last night together. She hasn't told him explicitly, but he's figured it out, mostly from her refusal to talk about and the way she changes the subject when he brings up any event beyond tomorrow. They lie entwined on the bed until the only light in the room comes from the moon, glowing faintly through the blinds on the window. He can scarcely see their bare feet on the edge of the bed, but it's enough to feel her body wrapped around his, so that he can't tell where he stops and she begins. _

_Hesitantly, her lips seek out his in the darkness, and within seconds, he is drowning in every aspect of her. He desperately wants his mind to shut down, so he can experience her with only his senses, but he realizes that he'd regret that decision in the morning. Even now, his mind is working frantically, recording every brush of her fingertips, every flutter of her eyelids. Recognizing what he's feeling as ecstasy, he does nothing to stop it, even though he knows it's to be replaced by heartache in just a few hours. _

_The heartache comes sooner than he expects. He wakes to an empty room, and the only sign that she's been here is the tingle on his lips from her goodbye kiss._

_**  
**_**I miss the sound of your voice  
Loudest thing in my head  
And I ache to remember  
All the violent, sweet  
Perfect words that you said  
**

He can still remember her voice, but her words are beginning to fade. He remembers the first time he told her he loved her. He smiles at the memory, at how horribly unprofessional he had acted. He had received some training so that he could contribute more to the assignments, and he was no longer relegated to staying in the car. He'd gone along with Casey and Sarah on the dangerous part of a mission, and things had quickly gotten heated.

"_Sarah!" he calls out, loud enough for her to hear over the pounding of gunshots. "Sarah, I might die, but I want you to know that I love you!" _

_If Casey hears, he chooses to not respond to that bit of information, focusing instead on taking out the bad guys. Sarah, on the other hand, definitely hears. She stops for a split second, and he's able to register her surprise as her gaze flashes toward him. He shoots her an apologetic look, and they both return to the fight. He's amazed that all three manage to escape being shot by physical bullets, and afterwards, he follows her lead in refusing to acknowledge the incident. _

One thing he does remember, and will never forget, is that she never said it in return.

**  
If I could walk on water  
If I could tell you what's next  
I'd make you believe  
I'd make you forget**

What he wants more than anything, though, is a chance to talk to her again. Because he knows he'll do it right this time. He knows he can convince her to stay, to believe in a future.

The hardest part is knowing that she's the one who stays away. She's the one who can locate him, who can contact him. And yet she's chosen to not reappear in his life. He wishes fervently for a way to get his message to her, but he has no idea where to start. He just knows that if she ever does return, he'll do everything in his power to convince her that coming back to him was the right decision.

**  
So come on, get higher, loosen my lips  
Faith and desire and the swing of your hips  
Just pull me down hard  
And drown me in love**

Even the chill November air cannot induce him to leave the pier. It's become his sacred place. He merely zips up his jacket and folds his arms across his chest, staring more intently at the rollicking sea. He likes it when the pier's deserted, and it's beginning to empty out because it's getting late, so it rankles a bit when he hears someone shuffling up behind him. He's prepared to ignore the person until they go away, hopefully convinced that he's a crazy homeless person who never leaves this section of the pier, who maybe sleeps on the bench just a few feet away.

The person clears her throat, and he can definitely tell it's a woman now, which is even worse than just a random guy trying to horn in on his territory. Since he lost her, he's had less and less patience with women. No matter how different they are from her, he always manages to find some feature, some attribute, that's reminiscent of her. The never-ending onslaught of reminders is agonizing.

"Chuck."  
**  
I miss the pull of your heart  
I taste the sparks on your tongue  
I see angels and devils  
And God, when you come on  
Hold on, hold on, hold on, hold on**

He freezes. He knows that voice. He's heard it in his mind every day for the past fourteen months. He can feel the pull she has on him now, and wonders how he was too distracted to notice it before. He tries to turn around, but he's too scared or too shy or too something. It could be a dream. It could be a hallucination. But that voice. That voice is just so . . . _real_.

Somehow, his feet move on their own, and he finds himself facing the opposite direction. She's standing in front of him, just as if the past year had been the blink of an eye.

**  
So come on, get higher, loosen my lips  
Faith and desire and the swing of your hips  
Just pull me down hard  
And drown me in love  
So come on, get higher, loosen my lips  
Faith and desire and the swing of your hips  
Just pull me down hard  
And drown me, drown me in love  
**

He doesn't need an explanation right now. It's enough to see her in the old _Star Wars_ t-shirt that he thought he had lost. It's enough to see her standing in front of him with a smile on her face and love in her eyes. It's enough to hear her saying his name.

He starts to move towards her, his arms unfolding instinctively, but his mind stops him, demanding to know how she could abandon him for so long.

Though the light's beginning to fade, he can tell that she's the same as she was over a year ago: the same hair, the same beautiful eyes, the same kind face.

She seems to sense that something's wrong, and she smiles, trying to lighten the mood. "I had to return this shirt, didn't I?" she asks saucily, tugging slightly on the hem.

The remark merely increases the sadness in his eyes.

"I wanted something tangible to remember you by," she confesses, her soft voice barely audible above the autumn breeze. "It still smells like you . . ."

It's raw and honest and exactly what he needs. In an instant, he's standing next to her, and they're supporting each other, foreheads touching.  
**  
It's all wrong, it's all wrong  
It's all wrong, it's so right  
So come on, get higher  
So come on and get higher  
'Cause everything works, love  
Everything works in your arms **

He opens his mouth several times to ask, but finds that he's lost his voice.

She responds instead to the question in his eyes, "I quit. It's over . . ."

_It's over. _

. . . _and we're beginning_, her gaze finishes the sentence where her words left off.

Before he can reply, she's captured his lips in an intimate kiss. He loops one arm around her slender waist, and her back curves eagerly in response. His other hand hovers near her stomach, his fingertips gently grazing her abdomen. She leans into the kiss and into his embrace, one hand running through his hair, the other on the side of his neck, pulling him closer to him. In a matter of seconds, he's losing himself in her, and they're fusing into one.

He's amazed at how familiar her lips seem. After fourteen months without her kiss, his mouth molds to hers as if he's been kissing her every day since she left. All his doubt melts away, and the thousand questions he wanted to ask have slipped from his mind. He thinks only of her, and he sees only her, and he tastes only her.

Reluctantly, she pulls away from him, keeps him at arm's length. "I'm sorry," she whispers, and tears well up in her eyes "I'm sorry I left. I'm sorry it took me so long to figure out that all I wanted was you. I'm sorry I waited until now to come back. I'm so sorry . . ."

He shakes his head. Without even realizing it, he's already forgiven her. He can see that she's waiting for an answer, some kind of response, but all he wants to do is melt into her. She stares at him with sad eyes, hoping that she's connected with him, that he won't turn her away.

"Come home with me." He pauses before adding, "To stay."

It's a statement, but his tone makes it a question.

She laughs through her tears, nodding her head before entering his embrace once again.

Suddenly, everything that was wrong in the world ten minutes ago is right again.


	4. I'd Lie

Song: "I'd Lie," by Taylor Swift

Thanks to bulova678 for the song suggestion!**  
**

* * *

**I don't think that passenger seat  
Has ever looked this good to me  
He tells me about his night  
I count the colors in his eyes**

Sarah loves riding in the car with Chuck. Driving always used to be a chore for her, just another job that she had to complete, just something to get her where she was going. But now? Now, with Chuck in the passenger seat, she can drive for days on end for the pure joy and relaxation that comes during a drive with him. He's comfortable in that seat, making her comfortable behind the wheel.

She loves how they can just drive around the city, watching the lights of L.A. and not minding the traffic for once, while he tells her about his hellish day at the Buy More. It's oddly calming, and it's become something of a routine. Whenever he needs to vent, they hop in her Porsch and off they go for a ride around town.

She also likes it because it keeps them close, but not so close that she's forced to acknowledge her deepening feelings for him. She can stare at the road for as long as she likes, and only cast a flickering glance over at him. She only locks eyes with him only infrequently, which is good considering that those brown eyes of his are her greatest weakness, her own personal kryptonite.

**Don't ever fall in love  
He swears, as he runs his fingers through his hair  
I'm laughing 'cause I hope he's wrong  
And I don't think it ever crossed his mind  
He tells a joke, I fake a smile  
But I know all his favorite songs**

They talk about music, and lots of times Chuck brings CDs for her to listen to. She finally starts figuring out what kind of music she likes, and it delights her. Chuck pays close attention to her favorites, then burns her some full CDs and some mixed ones. She's amazed at his memory – she likes every single song on the burned discs.

Their conversations become more diverse, and eventually he tells her a little bit about Jill. Sarah's initially a little jealous – Jill sounds like an amazing woman. Apparently, she was everything Chuck was looking for. Subconscious translation: everything Sarah's not. Jill could give Chuck exactly what he needed – she was similar enough to share his interests, but different enough to open him up to new things. Dangerously, Sarah lets her guard down and allows envy to creep into her mental image of Chuck's ex-girlfriend. But then she remembers how Jill hooked up with Bryce after Bryce got Chuck kicked out of Stanford, effectively ruining his future, and the jealousy dissipates.

It's times when he shares secrets like this one that she wants so much just to tell him everything about herself. It's times like this when she hates her job, hates who it forces her to be. Wanting to fly him home to meet her family and spend evenings looking through childhood pictures together, she nonetheless thinks up arguments against telling him anything more than he needs to know. Like how disclosing personal information to him could possibly put him in danger in the future. Or convincing herself that he's moved past her, and that they're just friends, and that she can be just his platonic friend without opening herself up as much as he'd like her to.

The arguments fall flat, of course, but something still keeps her from confiding in him. Lost in thought, she almost misses a stop sign and is forced to slam on the brakes. The jolt makes her finally realize what's holding her back:

Fear.

**And I could tell you  
His favorite color's green  
He loves to argue  
Born on the seventeenth  
His sister's beautiful  
He has his father's eyes  
And if you ask me if I love him,  
I'd lie**

After knowing him for only a few months, Sarah thinks she knows pretty much everything there is to know about Chuck Bartowski. She could tell you that his eyes are dark brown, and his hair is adorably curly. She could tell you that his favorite color's green and that his birthday is September 24th. That he has a great singing voice, which she knows from watching him (and occasionally joining in when he does) play Rock Band. That he has a wonderful family, and caring friends. That he rarely, if ever, stays in the car, but that's okay, because it usually turns out fairly well when he joins in the mission.

Yeah, she thinks she knows him. But then he'll say something, or do something so completely surprising that she chastises herself for ever thinking that he's predictable. She likes it, though. It's like a game, figuring out new things about him, and she knows she'd have no problem spending the rest of her life figuring out his nuances.

Truthfully, she does know him very well. She'd never admit it to her superiors that she knows him, not because it's her job to know him, but because she actually enjoys spending time with him. And, honestly, she studies him. He's as fascinating to her as international espionage _should_ be, but bad guys have recently fallen into second place in her life – not that her job suffers because of her lack of interest.

Of course, she'll never let anyone know – least of all Casey or Graham – but there's something in his gaze, an intensity maybe, that makes her feel totally out of control of the situation. The part that scares her most is that she doesn't even mind losing that control. She's pretty sure Casey suspects something, but as he hasn't directly accused her of getting intimate with "The Intersect," she's prepared to ignore the situation. If he ever does, though, there are only two options. And she'll pick the one that keeps her close to Chuck.

**He looks around the room  
Innocently overlooks the truth  
Shouldn't a light go on?  
Doesn't he know that I've had him memorized for so long  
He sees everything in black and white  
Never let nobody see him cry  
I don't let nobody see me wishing he was mine**

Sarah always accepts Ellie's invitations. She thinks the brunette doctor might have ulterior motives that involve trying to get her back together with Chuck, but she accepts the invitations anyway. She accepts for the company, and the laughter, and the excellent food.

She's amazed at how oblivious Chuck is. She's been trained to bury her feelings, but there's no way that she can hide what she feels for him. And yet, he continues to act like he means nothing to her. He doesn't seem to realize that she's memorized every movement of his body, as if that would help comfort her through the cold night, pretending she can feel his sturdy arms wrapped around her slender waist. He doesn't seem to catch the sadness in her eyes when Awesome mentions the imminent wedding.

Of course she'll go. She wants to, really. But she knows already that it'll kill a tiny part of her to see Ellie and Awesome so happy, and she has to watch, knowing that she can never share that with Chuck, no matter how much she wishes to. Even so, she'll never let him see the depth of emotion hidden behind her tough exterior. He thinks so much in black-and-white terms – he likes her; does she like him? And for a spy, everything is just innumerable shades of gray. There are obstacles, and rules, and emotions, and all kinds of things that have control over her that he doesn't see, that he doesn't understand.

So Sarah tries in vain to hide her feelings, but she's sure that Ellie sees, and often blushes when the older woman catches her staring at Chuck longer than is appropriate for their 'just friends' relationship. Embarrassed, she excuses herself to get a glass of water. Once in the kitchen, she takes a deep breath and pulls a glass from a cupboard.

While getting some ice cubes from the freezer, she's distracted by the sound of Morgan and Chuck cheering in the living room. They've apparently unlocked a great song on Rock Band, and are ecstatically celebrating. Ellie is clapping politely, an amused look on her face, but Anna's pretty much rocking out on the drum set.

Sarah chuckles to herself, and fills up her glass. Lost in her study of the Bartowski clan, she fails to notice Awesome approaching, and is startled by his booming voice, "So, Sarah, when are you going to show off your musical abilities?"

**I could tell you  
His favorite color's green  
He loves to argue  
Born on the seventeenth  
His sister's beautiful  
He has his father's eyes  
And if you ask me if I love him,  
I'd lie**

The sip of water she'd taken goes down the wrong pipe, and she chokes violently. Awesome immediately turns into the concerned doctor, and goes to pat her gently on the back. He tilts her chin up, and tells her to breathe. The obvious advice makes her laugh, only exasperating the coughing. She finally regains control of herself, and wipes the tears from her eyes.

"You okay?" he asks.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine," she stammers, her throat still scratchy.

He shuffles around the kitchen to make coffee, and she has the strange feeling like he wants her to stay. Reaching for the coffee grounds, he asks, "So what's up with you and Chuck?"

Startled, she answers, "Excuse me?"

"Seriously, Sarah, do you want me to have a talk with him? Because I know how freaked out he gets around women, and I also know how much he likes you, so I wouldn't want him to lose you just because he's too nervous to make the next move."

She would smile at how big-brotherly he's being if it weren't _so_ awkward. "Oh." She tries to look grateful instead of just plain weirded out. "Devon, that's . . . nice of you, but we decided to be just friends."

"Right," he draws the word out incredulously while measuring out water for the coffee machine.

The way he says it offends her slightly. "What? You don't think we can be just friends? You know, Chuck's a great guy! And I –"

"Woah! Sarah!" he turns and holds up his hands in surrender. "No need to get defensive."

She lets out a breath, and calms down. "Sorry, Devon."

"No prob."

She can feel him studying her, his arms crossed against his chest. Feeling self-conscious, she finally looks at him, "What?"

He grins, his teeth bright white and shiny. "You're in love with him, aren't you?" Without waiting for an answer, he adds, "That's awesome!"

"What? No!" she protests, a little too vehemently.

Awesome just stands there, grinning at her.

"Devon, no. I'm not," she pauses, her breath hitching, "I'm not in love with Chuck."

But then she looks over at him, playing that silly game with his equally silly best friends, and she realizes that no matter how much she objects, no matter how much she lies, she _is_.

She's in love with him.

God, how did she get so far deep in it without even realizing it?

Awesome watches her staring at Chuck, entranced. He turns and walks back into the living room, pausing in the archway to say cryptically, "The question is, my friend, what are you going to do about it?"

**He stands there, then walks away  
My God, if I could only say  
I'm holding every breath for you**

Stunned, Sarah walks slowly back into the living room, prepared to will a convincing smile onto her face. However, as soon as Chuck catches sight of her, he grins infectiously, and she doesn't have to fake her smile. They're arguing over what song to play next, but he stops in the middle of his sentence and motions erratically for her to come and play the bass. She quickly waves him off. Unwilling to give up so easily, he picks up the spare guitar, climbs over Morgan, who's sprawled on the floor doing the vocals, and thrusts it at her rather forcefully.

She stares at him, trying to get him to back down, but he just gives her a crooked smile and that's all it takes. Always prepared for a challenge, she grabs the guitar and slings it over her shoulder, ready to prove her worth in this new territory of video games and science fiction and other nerdy pursuits.

He turns and walks to the other side of the couch to get a better view of the television. And she wants so much to tell him how she holds every breath for him, and only for him. She catches Awesome staring sideways at her, so she coughs nervously and turns to the screen, looking for her part. Her fingers are shaking from the encounter with Chuck.

God, she didn't even touch him! How can he affect her like this?

She forces a deep gulp of air into her lungs, trying to calm herself.

Morgan's finally finds a song, and Sarah's grateful that Anna's put her part on Easy. She bungles her way through the first few measures of the song, but soon pushes thoughts of Chuck from her mind and gains confidence, ending up with an 88 percent overall. She smiles, and Chuck looks over at her, impressed that she's not only fairly decent at this game, but also that she's having fun. Awesome and Ellie applaud vigorously, no doubt because she's beginning to come out of her shell around them.

**He'd never tell you, but he can play guitar  
I think he can see through everything but my heart  
First thought when I wake up is  
My God, he's beautiful  
So I put on my make-up and pray for a miracle**

At Awesome's insistence, Sarah and Chuck hand over their guitar controllers to him and Ellie. Sarah takes a seat on the couch, curling her feet underneath her. Chuck bounces down next to her, hooking his arm on the back of the couch directly behind her. Coming from any other guy, it'd be just another move to get near her, but he doesn't even seem to realize how close they're sitting right now. It's intimate, and it would be comfortable if her heart weren't pounding like she's about to jump from a thousand-foot precipice.

Breathing deeply, she watches Chuck cheer on this makeshift band, whooping and hollering during the good Captain's guitar solo. As usual, he's oblivious to the struggle going on within her, and no matter how much it hurts her, no matter how many lies she has to tell, she's determined to keep it that way.

She's caught in a dilemma, and for the first time in her life, Sarah can see no way out.

**Yes, I could tell you  
His favorite color's green  
He loves to argue  
Oh, and it kills me  
His sister's beautiful  
He has his father's eyes  
And if you ask me if I love him,  
If you ask me if I love him,  
I'd lie**

Her job is all about lying. They train you to lie convincingly, starting with a grain of truth. She enjoys it sometimes, spinning tales to save her life. Little did she anticipate that she'd have to deny her feelings in order to spare her heart.

And she never imagined she'd have to shatter his heart to keep her own intact.

A small part of her dies every time she lies to him, or even to his sister or friends.

But by far the worst part, she finds, is lying to herself.


	5. Someone to Fall Back On

Song: "Someone to Fall Back On," by Jason Robert Brown.

A/N: I'm pretty much in love with this song, and I thought the lyrics fit really well, so I really wanted to use it. Apologies that the story itself is a little rough, though.

* * *

**I'll never be****  
****A knight in armor****  
****With a sword in hand,****  
****Or a kamikaze fighter;****  
****Don't count on me****  
****To storm the barricades ****  
****And take a stand,****  
****Or hold my ground**

The first day he met Sarah, he felt inadequate. She was beautiful, charming, and he had no clue why she would want to go out with a guy who worked for the Nerd Herd. Of course, he found out later that she didn't actually want to, but that was beside the point.

Occasionally, he still feels inadequate next to her.

She's an international spy.

He's just a computer nerd.

He's well aware of his limitations, but he also knows his attributes. He can bring something to the team. He'd like to contribute more, of course, especially in the physical fighting department, but he figures that can wait a while. Hell, maybe if they stick this out long enough, they'll train him to fight. Currently, he operates much more in the mental aspect of the game. With only substandard knowledge of basic self-defense under his belt, it'd be foolish to try to pretend otherwise. It shames him to be unable to defend himself, and to have Casey and Sarah always stick their necks out for his safety, which is probably what drives him to want to help so much, even if it means getting out of the car.

He's not a fighter. He'll be the first to admit that. But after she revealed what she did for a living, his first thought was how he wished he could be a super-spy like Bryce Larkin. After Jill left him, he promised himself that he'd never debase himself for a woman, that he'd never try to be something he's not. So after that initial stab of jealousy, he tries his hardest to be himself, to be everything that Bryce Larkin will never be – a nice guy.

Some days, he thinks that Sarah's learned to not count on him during a mission. It's this that hurts him more than anything. But it makes him even more determined to be someone who can be counted on each and every day.

**You'll never see****  
****Any scars or wounds -****  
****I don't walk on coals,****  
****I won't walk on water:****  
****I am no prince,****  
****I am no saint,****  
****I am not anyone's wildest dream,****  
****But I can stand behind****  
And be someone to fall back on.**

Every once in a while, he sees her defenses crumble, and he's aware that there's a vulnerable woman behind the tough exterior. As infrequent as those times are, they give him hope, because he sees that she doesn't need someone just like her. She doesn't need someone to defend her honor, or to rescue her when she's in distress. Sometimes, just sometimes, she may be in need of an ordinary guy like him.

He's nowhere near perfect, and he doesn't have any physical wounds to show off his prowess in the spy realm. But he has experience in the real world, and the emotional scars to prove what that was worth. He's not spectacular, can't perform magical tricks or daring feats, but he's a great listener, and an honest friend. He knows he's not any girl's dream guy, but he still manages to be his charming and likeable and adorable self all the same.

Chuck Bartowski is no superhero. But he'd like to see the guy who offered himself as one to Sarah Walker come away unscathed. Sarah's not perfect, he sees that. For those times when she needs to let loose, when she needs to break down, when she needs to just let go, he can be her rock. He wants to be her touchstone, that place she always finds her way back to when she's lost.

It takes him a while, but he finally figures out that he doesn't need to be fighting alongside her. He just needs to be there to catch her if she ever looses her footing.

**Some comedy -  
You're bruised and beaten down  
And I'm the one  
Who's looking for a favor.  
Still, honestly,  
You don't believe me  
But the things I have  
Are the things you need.**

Their situation would be rather amusing if they weren't constantly returning from missions with physical bruises or from encounters with each other with emotional wounds. After living a mostly solitary lifestyle, he thinks that life close to him wears her down. Yet he's continually asking her for confirmation of her feelings, for guidance in where to step in their relationship. He wishes he could contain his affection for her, but after five years without anyone, he finds it hard to not jump for joy every time he sees her smile.

Even though he knows it's hard for her, to watch him fall harder for her with each passing day, he makes no effort to hide it. She may not see it right now, but she'll realize eventually. She'll realize that although he's nothing she's looking for, he has exactly what she needs.

**You look at me  
Like I don't make sense,  
Like a waste of time,  
Like it serves no purpose -  
I am no prince,  
I am no saint,  
And if that's what you believe you need,  
You're wrong - you don't need much,**

**You need someone to fall back on . . .**

**  
**She looks at him sometimes as if she has no idea how his thought process works. Of course, when she gets that look, he's usually spouting computer jargon, but occasionally he's talking about friendship or family or love. He's not sure if she ever takes him seriously, and strives to prove that the time she spends with him isn't wasted. So he tries to pry open the personality traits that even she is not aware of, like what kind of movies she likes. He takes her around L.A., trying to find her favorite spot. She laughs when he tells her that everyone has a favorite place, and that she has to have one, too. They've been to parks and museums and coffee shops and bookstores and all over, but they still haven't found that one special place yet. Though reluctant at the start, she shows no signs of wanting to give up the quest. So they continue to search, determined to find it.

He doesn't tell her, though, that his favorite place is the spot on the beach where he went to sort through things after their first "date." The spot where she looked after him the whole night. The spot where she asked him to trust her. He goes to that exact place, occasionally, to stare at the waves and dwell on what could have been.

If only he could convince her to trust him as well.

**And I'll be that:  
I'll take your side.  
If I'm the only one,  
I'm used to that.**

He goes to his spot on the beach to think, and she usually leaves him alone, giving him space to clear his mind, but tonight as he drives up, he can see the outline of a familiar figure against the horizon. He leaves his Converses and socks in the car, and walks quietly over the cooling sand. She doesn't turn her head as he approaches, but he's sure that she knows he's there.

He's at a loss to know why she's there, and, frankly, a little irritated that she'd intrude on his time to think. But his annoyance washes away as he takes a deep breath and stares at the diffusing rays of the setting sun. He sits down next to her, a respectable distance away, the waves rolling over his bare ankles. Neither looks at the other; their attentions are captured by the horizon.

He's bursting to say something, but at the same time recognizes that saying anything is a bad idea. So he sits quietly, controlling his impulse to ramble. He wishes desperately that she felt she could confide in him about whatever's bothering her, but he settles for being allowed to sit near her while she's out of temper. He likes to think that he's the only one she's allowed to see this inner layer of her personality, that he's broken down one of her walls. He has no idea how many he has left to climb over or tear down, but he's willing to find out.

He's not sure how long they sit. Counting the waves is easier than counting the minutes. His sigh is audible over the steady rhythm of the waves, and just as he's about to give up on being let in, she reaches out slowly and places her hand over his.

**I've been alone,  
I'd rather be  
The half of us,  
The least of you,  
The best of me.**

It's not much, but it's a connection, and that's all that he can ask for. She still makes no move to talk, simply sits there and holds his hand.

When the sun has sunk all the way past the horizon, she finally looks at him, turning to gaze straight in his eyes. He's taken aback, especially after it took so much to _not_ look at her for so long. There's a sadness in her look that he can't quiet define. He's not sure where it came from, or what he can do to make it go away, but it makes his heart ache just to see her hurting.

The daylight's fading, and he can already tell how the moonlight will fall upon the curves of her face and bring out her beauty even more. She moves closer to him, inching over the sand. She says nothing, only leans into him, indicating that she wants him to hold her. He complies, sliding his arms around her tenderly. She responds gratefully by leaning her head against his cheek.

Content to just be, they watch the moonlight play upon the water and listen to the waves crash on the shore.

**And I will be  
Your prince,  
I'll be your saint,  
I will go crashing through fences  
In your name. I will, I swear -  
I'll be someone to fall back on!**

They stay entwined all night. She falls asleep in his arms, giving him an opportunity to study her. He's reluctant to move for fear of waking her, so he just sits quietly, feeling the slight movements of her chest as she inhales and exhales. Taking a chance, he strokes her hair lightly, reveling in the feeling of the soft strands against his fingertips.

His eyes are starting to feel heavy, but the prospect of staying awake is much more tempting than sleeping. So he breathes in the salty sea air and the scent of her, and leans his head against hers, satisfied to just drown in her.

**I'll be the one who waits,  
And for as long as you'll let me,  
I will be the one you need.  
I'll be someone to fall back on:  
Your prince,  
Your saint,  
The one you believe you need  
I'll be - I'll be  
Someone to fall back on.**

In early morning, just after dawn, she wakes. She looks at him groggily, but manages to comprehend that he stayed awake all night for her. When she doesn't freak out because she fell asleep on a beach in his arms or become embarrassed that she let her guard down so completely, he thinks she's finally understood that he's the one she can fall back on.


	6. Here in Your Arms

Song: "Here in Your Arms," by Hellogoodbye.

Thanks once again to bulova678 for the song suggestion! I had never heard of this song, and then I listened to it and quickly became addicted. So just a forewarning, if any of you decide to give it a listen. :)

* * *

**I like  
Where we are  
When we drive  
In your car.  
I like  
Where we are  
Here.**

Despite a few hitches, their mission had gone off well. Chuck looks a little worse for the wear, with a torn shirt and tousled hair, but he insists on driving. The Nerd Herder is, after all, a company car. And the last time she drove it, she crashed it down a flight of stairs. Big Mike's still kind of bitter about that. From the passenger seat, Sarah can see the slightest bit of pale skin through the rips in Chuck's black t-shirt. She stifles a gasp, and forces her eyes back to the road. He took a tumble during the scuffle, and bruises are already starting to form on his face, no doubt also all over his back and abdomen. He's going to be hurting in the morning.

She's comfortable right now. Her head's pounding, but she's at ease. There are few places where she is comfortable, but this car is one of them. Also his house, the Buy More, pretty much anywhere that reminds her of him. There are few people with whom she is comfortable, and Chuck is definitely one of those people. He doesn't even have to say anything, which is something she loves about him. Bryce always wanted to talk about their feelings, but Chuck, who is capable of rambling for hours about what sandwich he'd bring to a desert island or which pod is the best in _Episode I: Podracer_, is totally fine with silence.

They reach her building, and she's prepared to go in to her empty apartment, when something makes her reevaluate the situation.

"Why don't you come up?"

The question is so unexpected and shocking and out-of-line that it needs justification.

"I mean," she continues, "I can get you ice for your bruises."

His eyes lose their surprise after her explanation, but he still looks at her differently, as if he's aware of the veiled offer underneath it. "Sure," he says quietly, shutting off the engine.

**Cause our lips  
Can touch,  
And our cheeks  
Can brush.  
Our lips  
Can touch  
Here.**

He follows her into the apartment quietly, the plush carpet almost concealing the shuffling of their footsteps. She leads him into the kitchen, but before she can get him an ice pack, he asks, "Do you have a first aid kit?"

"Why? Are you hurt?"

It's a stupid question, but one that she finds herself asking a lot in regards to him.

He gestures to his forehead, and she reaches up to touch her own, only to feel a patch of congealed blood on it. No wonder her head's aching.

"There's one in the bathroom."

He retrieves it quickly, and guides her over to the kitchen sink. He's standing a bit too close for her comfort, so she hoists herself onto the counter, leveling out their eye lines. He wets a soft wash cloth and gently cleans the gash on her forehead. His hands are warm on her face, and she's amazed at how tender he is. Once he gets most of the dried blood off, he takes out a small bottle of hydrogen peroxide. She hisses when he applies it to the cut, and he pulls back with a worried look on his face.

She half-smiles, half-grimaces. "I'm fine."

He nods, but makes an effort to finish up quickly, drying the wound and placing a bandage over it.

"There," he pronounces, smoothing out the bandage. She expects him to pull away, but he keeps one hand on the side of her face, his thumb brushing her cheek. With his other hand, he pushes the stray strands of hair behind her ear.

It's an intimate moment, and she's glad that her apartment isn't bugged. She can feel her heartbeat speed up, but she ignores the warnings her body tries to give her and slowly winds her arms around his waist, drawing him closer to her. He's hesitant, but he relaxes as she whispers his name and rests her cheek against his, reveling in the feeling of his body so close to hers. She strains for air, her lungs tight in her chest. His lips trace soft kisses along her ear, sending shivers down her spine.

She arches her back in an effort to get even closer to him when a sharp pain erupts in her wrist. She sucks in her breath and pulls away from the embrace.

In an instant, his eyes are overflowing with concern. "Are you all right? Did I hurt you?"

"No, it's just my wrist," she says with a grimace, offering it to his gentle hands.

He takes her left wrist tenderly, examining the bruising that's starting to appear. "Maybe we should get you to a doctor."

"No, I don't need a doctor. Just, can you bandage it up, maybe?"

"Sure." He rummages in the first aid kid for a splint and an ace bandage, then sets to work, wrapping the sprained appendage skillfully and quickly.

"Thanks." She smiles, but the moment is gone.

She watches him move comfortably around the kitchen as he gets her a glass of water and some aspirin, which she takes promptly. He also brings her an ice pack wrapped in a paper towel and places it on her forehead, where a large bump has formed under and around the gash. "Here. I think you need this more than I do."

She holds the ice on her throbbing head, the cold sensation spreading to the rest of her body.

He sighs, "You've had a rough night. You should get some rest."

She nods, and he helps her down off the counter.

They make their way into the main room, and as he's about to leave, she grabs his sleeve with her good hand.

"Stay."  
**  
When you are the one, the one that lies close to me,  
Whispers "Hello, I've missed you quite terribly."  
I fell in love, in love with you suddenly,  
That there's no place else I could be but here in your arms.  
**

Chuck's presence is so calming that it's enough to just lie beside him. She can breathe more deeply and think more clearly than when he's absent. She's curled up on her side, facing him. Exhausted from the night's events, he's dozing peacefully, his breathing even and soothing. Even in his sleep, his arms are protective around her.

She realizes with a smile that she'd have no problem watching him sleep all night. But seeing as she has a shift at Wienerlicious tomorrow, and a sleepless night would do her no good in any case, she shifts into him, closing her eyes and leaning her head lightly against his chest. Her last thought before she drifts off to sleep is how good it feels to be in his arms.  
**  
I like  
Where you sleep,  
When you sleep  
Next to me.  
I like  
Where you sleep -  
Here.  
**

Sarah wakes the next morning to a warm bed and an even warmer body. He's awake already, his lids heavy and his eyes unfocused. She stretches out her neck and upper back, groaning softly at the dull aches all over her body that are remnants of the fight last night. He rubs his eyes, and smiles at her.

The memories of last night are so alive for her, and she knows that there's no returning to what they were before. So she takes a leap and tentatively leans toward him. His eyes widen a bit in surprise, but he shifts his body so that he's in a more comfortable position and yields to her kiss. It's slow, and agonizing, and breathtaking. She pours every ounce of pent up desire into that kiss, and he responds with pleasure, his hands roaming timidly over her back.

Abruptly, he tears his lips away from hers, leaving her bewildered and empty. "Sarah," he whispers pleadingly. "I can't do this."

She knows what he means, what he thinks. Because she wouldn't be able to do that either.

"Chuck, no," she begins softly, "for real this time."

He shakes his head, not quite understanding.

"I can't keep denying my feelings for you," she confesses, baring her heart for him.

He gazes at her intensely, and there's a question in his eyes.

"We can keep it a secret."  
**  
Our lips  
Can touch,  
And our cheeks  
Can brush.  
Our lips  
Can touch;  
Here.**

They spend the next few weeks sneaking around, making Sarah feel like a school girl again. One change that Sarah's noticed is that she touches him a lot more than she used to. Before, she had to hold back, to not show as much as she was feeling. But she finally feels free now that she's able to touch him whenever she wants, even if it's just a small kiss on the cheek, or linking her pinky with his.

Chuck's the happiest she's ever seen him, and even Ellie comments on it to her at dinner one night. She makes him promise to take it slowly, though, because she's not used to being in a serious relationship. He complies readily, and the best thing he ever tells her is that they feel like a normal couple.

But he loses his nerve and freaks out one day when Casey compliments them on their "acting." He's sure that it means he's figured their ruse out, but Sarah's adamant that he's just impressed that Chuck upped his game so much, at least in Casey's eyes. He paces around her bedroom, and she has a hard time calming him down. She finally asks him to sit down, but he just lies on the bed on his back and stares at the ceiling, twiddling his fingers and tapping his toes incessantly.

However endearing he is most of the time, right now, he's close to driving her insane. Her best bet to get him to stop worrying is to distract him. So she takes two dresses from her closet and holds them up for him to judge.

"Make yourself useful, then."

He lifts his head, then props himself up on his elbows.

"Help me pick a dress for tomorrow night," she requests. One dress is a satiny, emerald-green A-line. The other is a longer, fancier deep blue dress. She holds one in each hand, and moves them up and down in turn.

"What's tomorrow?" he asks.

"Ellie and I are going to see a show, and afterwards she's taking me to a party." Sarah contorts her mouth, studying the blue dress. "I think she wants me to meet some of her doctor friends."

He picks his feet up and wiggles them, taking a greater interest in them than he does in examining her dresses.

"Don't worry," she assures him, "I won't flirt with any cute guys." She gives him a sassy smile. "_Promise_."

He chuckles. "That's not what I was thinking about."

Her curiosity is roused by the smile growing on his lips. "What?" she asks with a small laugh.

He pauses before answering. "It's just, she already thinks of you as her sister."

**When you are the one, the one that lies close to me.  
Whispers "Hello, I've missed you quite terribly."  
I fell in love, in love with you suddenly,  
That there's no place else I could be but here in your arms.**

They move in together (to reinforce their cover, she tells Graham), and her favorite part about living with him is sleeping in his arms each night. Most of her previous relationships were just about sex, but her relationship with Chuck is more than that. She loves every single minute she spends with him, whether it's just eating breakfast across from him, or spontaneously rearranging the living room furniture, or curling up on the couch to watch a movie (or a_ Battlestar Galactica_ marathon).

At the beginning of each briefing, Casey asks if Bartowski's driving her crazy yet. To convince him, she gives a low laugh and says, "Not yet." She'll never tell him that the only thing that drives her crazy is not being able to be with Chuck every single moment of the day. She'll never tell him that living with Chuck is more fun than she could possibly have imagined, that she's played more video games in the past week alone than she has in her whole life, that she now agrees that _Star Wars_ Trivial Pursuit is way more fun than regular old Trivial Pursuit, that she's already begun to read books on the list of "Greatest Books on the Planet" that Chuck gave her. No, she'd never tell Casey any of that.

She loves lying in bed, wrapped up in him, just talking. Chuck can talk about anything, and generally does. She's not the best conversationalist, but he's patient and she's learning to be more open with him. She's dying to share her secrets with him, and though she's falling harder for him each day, they both know she's still a long way off from divulging substantial information about her past.

Each time he kisses her, though, she knows she's one step closer to uncovering and sharing her soul.

**Our lips  
Can touch.  
Our lips  
Can touch  
Here.**

Their apartment becomes their sanctuary. It's the only place she's allowed to show the full extent of her feelings without worrying about the possible repercussions. When they're with Ellie and Devon, or Morgan, it's fine to be themselves, but there's always the possibility that Casey, growing suspicious, is lurking nearby. Because of the bugs, she has to watch what she says at Ellie's place, to make sure Casey can't take it the wrong way, but to also make sure that Ellie thinks it means what it does mean, and that Chuck understands, too.

It's exhausting.

But she'd have it no other way.

Feeling particularly restless as they return from a post-mission meeting with the superiors, they're barely through the door before she takes Chuck's hand and pulls him into the bedroom. She leans against the wall and draws him towards her, kissing him passionately. He responds eagerly but tenderly, his hands lightly gripping her waist. She runs her fingers through his curls, messing up his already mussed-up hair.

She slides a hand under his t-shirt, her fingers cold against his warm skin. He gets the message, lifting her gracefully and carrying her over to the bed.

As he lays her down gently, she knows that life would be unbearable without this refuge they've carved for themselves.

**When you are the one, the one that lies close to me.  
Whispers "Hello, I've missed you quite terribly."  
I fell in love, in love with you suddenly,  
That there's no place else I could be but here in your arms.  
**

She half wakes up when he comes in late after a long night of video gaming with Morgan. He quickly readies for bed and hops under the sheets, snaking an arm around her waist.

"Hey, sweetie," he says quietly. "Sorry I'm late. Did you dream of me?"

She gives a low, sleepy chuckle, and he kisses the back of her neck in response.

"I missed you," he whispers.

She falls a little more in love with him when he says simple, honest things like that to her.

**When you are the one, the one that lies close to me.  
Whispers "Hello, I´ve missed you, I've missed you."  
I fell in love, in love with you suddenly,  
That there's no place else I could be but here in your arms**

He brings her breakfast in bed one morning – chocolate chip pancakes – and they eat the meal lazily, lounging around for as long as they feel like it. She giggles at the Darth Vader patterns on his pajama bottoms, and jokingly promises to buy him some Yoda PJs to go along with them. He responds by merely stealing a slice of her bacon, then attacking her stomach and sides with waggling fingers. She's not sure how he's done it, but he's found out her most ticklish spots.

"Uncle!" she cries through her shrieks of laughter, and he relents with a grin. He falls back on the bed, and she nestles into his side, catching her breath. She loses track of the time - the only constant is the feeling of his skin against hers.

"I should do something productive," he finally says, but he sounds reluctant to move.

Sitting up to face him, she grins slyly and wraps her arm around his neck. "What if I want to keep you here all day?"

"Mmm . . . well, Miss Walker, as delightful as that sounds, I'm supposed to meet Awesome for some male bonding time in an hour."

She rolls on top of him. "And what will you do if I just don't let you leave?"

"Depends. Are you going to use force?"

"You better get used to it, Chuck Bartowski, 'cause I'm never giving you up."

**Here in your arms  
Here in your arms**


	7. Lost

Song: "Lost," by Michael Buble. Thanks to **Go-Chuck-Go** for the suggestion!

A/N: First, thanks for the reviews on the first six chapters! I'm glad you're having as much fun reading this as I am writing it.

Second, this chapter has a very different feel to it. The story doesn't follow the song lyrics as closely as it usually does, but I tried to get the overall arc of the story to fit the lyrics. I've included a mission (mainly because of the _challenge _- woo!), but I've never really written action or heavy plot. So let me know if you think these things work well or not. Hope you enjoy it!

* * *

**I can't believe it's over  
I watched the whole thing fall  
And I never saw the right man was on the wall  
If I don't land  
Days were slipping past  
That the good things never last  
That you were crying**

**  
**"Larkin's back," Casey growls in passing as he heads purposefully to the Home Appliance section. He doesn't glance at Chuck, doesn't even look fazed by the news. Typical Casey – focused on the job at hand.

Chuck swallows. After their encounter over Thanksgiving, he's forgiven Bryce. But that doesn't mean he wants him popping up in his life whenever the super spy feels like it. Especially not that Chuck's finally found safe footing in his relationship with Sarah, now that they've reached an understanding of sorts. He doesn't know if he can handle Bryce returning to screw that up.

He takes his lunch break early and heads over to the Wienerlicious.

"Hey," she greets him with a smile as she refills napkin holders on the tables. But her smile's not quite convincing, and she turns away quickly. He has the vague, uncomfortable feeling that she's keeping something from him.

"He's back," he offers, and his tone contains an veiled challenge. When she doesn't elucidate the situation, he asks, "Why?"

"He's undercover in the Fulcrum operation. You're of interest to that group. So it makes sense that the information he has would be of use to us as a team."

His heart sinks. She's talking like Sarah Walker the CIA agent, and not Sarah his friend. He nods his head curtly and turns to go, but catches himself at the door. Looking over his shoulder, he asks, "Are you okay with this?"

She looks up, and he turns to face her fully.

"I mean," he stammers, "Are you all right? If you need someone to talk to . . ."

She's quiet, but she nods, and he knows that she's grateful that he's thinking of her.

He leaves, and misses the single tear that streaks down her cheek.

**  
Summer turned to winter  
And the snow it turned to rain  
And the rain turned into tears upon your face  
I hardly recognized the girl you are today  
And god I hope it's not too late  
It's not too late**

"What's wrong with Sarah?" Bryce asks as he watches her walk away from the mission briefing with a frown gracing her features.

They've been on tentative but civil footing the whole time he's been here, but that question makes Chuck want to do something mildly violent to knock some sense into his former best friend. Of course, she's upset, idiot! She lost the man she loves and now has to endure him returning unexpectedly every few months.

Instead of answering Bryce, he runs after Sarah, catching up with her just outside the doors of the Buy More. He grabs the sleeve of her sweater gently, and stands in front of her.

"Hey, hey, hey," he says, but she won't look at him. He's struck by how the darkening light manages to illuminate her sadness. "Wanna take a walk?"

She looks up at him now, an unreadable expression in her eyes. "We've got a big day tomorrow. We should probably rest up." The small smile she offers him lacks that spark he's come to expect. Ever since Bryce came back, she's been like a different person, one he doesn't recognize. He'd say he hates the way Bryce affects her, but he'd just be a hypocrite. Because no matter how hard he tries to stop it, she affects him in exactly the same way, if not even more so.

"Well, at least, at least let me drive you home."

She gives the slightest shake of her head to indicate that that's not the best idea. "No, Chuck, but thank you." She moves to walk away, but stops to add, "Get some rest tonight, okay?"

He nods somberly. Watching her stride across the almost empty parking lot, he hates what they've become. Ever since Bryce showed up, she's been so distant. Never very open to begin with, he feels like he can't talk to her about anything anymore. She's around him each and every day, but her proximity just makes her feel further away from him. As she slides into her Porsch, he gets a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. He doesn't know where it comes from, but he can't fight the feeling that he's lost his only chance to tell her how he really feels.

**  
'Cause you are not alone  
I'm always there with you  
And we'll get lost together  
Till the light comes pouring through**

Chuck's grateful that the government sprang for four separate hotel rooms. That way he doesn't have to deal with anyone bugging him about the funk he's been in all day. Casey ignored him during the whole car ride, which was fine with both of them. Sarah was as silent as he was, and Bryce just wanted someone to talk to. But Chuck had slipped on his iPod and disappeared into his own world, only emerging to make pit stops at various gas stations.

Somehow, though, he's ended up with the room adjoined to Sarah's. Lying on the bed in his PJs, flipping through the seemingly endless channels, he tries not to think about her. But his mind is weak, his thoughts constantly reverting to the blonde beauty who toys with his overly affectionate heart.

After an hour of failing to get to sleep, he contemplates watching more late-night television. He's in the process of turning on the bed-side lamp when a noise from the next room stops him. He quickly falls back onto his pillow as the door opens and Sarah peeks in. He curses himself for leaving his side open, and shuts his eyes, blocking her out and pretending to be asleep. He knows it's childish, but he's not quite prepared to deal with her ups and downs right now. Not at 2:30 in the morning. Not when they have an important mission tomorrow night.

He can hear her pad over to him, and he feels the bed sink a bit as she sits on the edge. Her hand is on his cheek, and he has to fight back the urge to open his eyes. She runs her thumb along his cheekbone. The touch is so intimate, so unlike Sarah. She lets out a soft sigh, and he thinks she shifts, because the bed springs squeak.

"Be patient with me, Chuck," she whispers, and he's surprised at how near she is, her breath warm on his face. She places a light kiss on his forehead, and all of a sudden, she's gone. "Sleep tight," she says, and her voice is far away now.

He opens his eyes just wide enough to catch a glimpse of blonde hair disappearing as she shuts the door and shuts out the light.

**  
'Cause when you feel like you're done  
And the darkness has won  
Babe, you're not lost  
When your world's crashing down  
And you can't bear to fall  
I said, babe, you're not lost  
**

As the four are to arrive at the party separately, Chuck is designated to go third, behind Sarah and before Casey. He's a little freaked that he and Sarah aren't going as a couple, like they usually do, but she's already assured him that she'll be across the room the whole time. And they're going to be wired, ensuring a smooth line of communication between the four. If he flashes on anything, he can let the other three know in a matter of seconds.

So at 7:49 that night, the taxi pulls up to the in the resort turnaround, and Chuck hops out, dodging the rain less-than-enthusiastically. Bryce had already had access to the guest list, so he's able to get through the door without a problem. As he enters the main ballroom, he has a hard time keeping his jaw from dropping. It's less like a dinner party and more like a _gala _on drugs. It's insanely elegant, with diamond chandeliers and ice sculptures and table settings that must have cost $2,000 a plate. He suddenly feels out of place, even in his tux. Reaching up to straighten his bow-tow, he swallows nervously.

"You okay, Chuck?" Bryce's voice comes through his earpiece. Not wanting to risk their line of communication two minutes after he's arrived, he simply nods, trusting that Bryce can see his response. "Good. Now tell us if you flash on anyone."

Chuck sets to work, loitering around the bar and scanning the crowd. Almost immediately, he sees a man in his 50s, wearing a dark purple, pin-striped suit and a god-awful fedora with a bright yellow feather. That's all he registers before a series of images flashes across his mind.

"Seriously, dude?" Chuck whispers to himself. "You're the leader of an internal CIA strike and you wear that to blend in?"

"What was that, Chuck?" It's Sarah's voice in his ear.

He moves into a more crowded section and whispers surreptitiously, "The older guy over there in the fedora? That's David Arenzia. Code name's Mareades. He's the current Fulcrum leader. He's the one in charge of this little meeting-disguised-as-a-party."

"We're on it."

He turns around, hops on a bar stool, and coolly orders a drink. Within a minute, his ears are clobbered with sounds of muffled fighting. From the sounds of it, Sarah's taking the guy out in a supply closet.

"I'm in," Casey says.

"You're too late, man."

"What?" Chuck can visualize Casey's irritated face. "I missed all the fun?"

He swivels in his stool, and sees Sarah reemerge into the crowd, just as Casey comes in from the opposite side of the ballroom. A couple dancing sweeps in front of the irate NSA agent, causing his scowl to deepen. But Chuck's eyes have already rolled into the back of his head.

After he comes to, he whispers, "Wait, Casey, not all the fun."

"Yeah?"

"Chuck?" It's Bryce now. "What do you mean? I thought we just got the guy."

He takes his drink and moves away from the bar, not wanting to draw suspicion because he's talking to himself. "You did, but there must be more than one. That guy who swept past you a second ago, Casey? That's James Mostolowitz. Code name Olympius. He's in charge of international operations, the heavy stuff. Deals in arms, drugs, rare goods, even people."

"Which one is he?" Sarah asks.

"The guy dancing - dark suit, bright green tie. He's with the woman in that sexy red dress."

Casey grunts, and Chuck thinks he hears Sarah huff, but he can't be sure.

"How are you guys going to take him while he's dancing?" he continues, curious.

Sarah answers him, her tone a little too forceful. "I'll handle this one."

He's rather loath to find out what she means, but she waits until the dance is over, and then moves toward James, a coquettish gleam in her eye. Chuck's throat tightens. He doesn't really want to watch this, but he can't tear his eyes from her. She flirts with James, and he asks her to dance. Before he can watch the plan come to fruition, though, a blunt object jabs into his back.

**  
Life can show no mercy  
It can tear your soul apart  
It can make you feel like you've gone crazy  
But you're not  
Things have seem to changed  
There's one thing that's still the same  
In my heart you have remained  
And we can fly, fly, fly away**

"I think you'll want to come with me, Mr. . . . Wodehausen, was it?"

Chuck swallows hard, and nods. He sends one last look to the dance floor, but Sarah's wrapped up in her partner.

As soon as they're out of sight of the crowd, the man gets less friendly - not that holding a gun to someone's back is ever friendly to begin with. He grabs Chuck roughly around the neck, almost cutting off his air supply. Unable to ask where they're going or talk his way out of the situation, all Chuck can do is go where the man wants him to go, which turns out to be the resort roof.

The rain's falling faster now, splattering on his pale face and into his gasping mouth. They're nearly to the edge of the roof, and Chuck, scared out of his wits, thinks the man's going to push him off without any ceremony, but they stop about five feet from the ledge. The man's grip around his neck relaxes, allowing him to breathe a bit more easily.

He catches his breath, then chokes out, "Why are you doing this?"

"Because I want to know who you are and why you've invaded my party."

"I'm just . . . I'm a nerd who snuck in to impress a girl, that's all," he pants, hoping the line that's gotten him out of tough spots before will get him out of this one. He still can't see the man's face, so there's no way to trigger a flash and scare him with secrets. He hears the door to the roof fly open behind them, and his heart leaps the tiniest bit.

The guy holding him whips him around and he's greeted by the sight of Casey and Bryce, their guns drawn. Which is good, of course, a lot better than many Fulcrum agents coming to kill him, just not the face he'd hoped to see. He's suddenly very happy that he's wearing a bullet-proof vest. Last time he was being used as a human shield and Bryce had a gun pointed at him, the vest had come in handy.

"Let the kid go. He's of no use to you," Casey growls, his gun trained, as far as Chuck can tell, on the man's forehead.

"Oh, but I believe he is. Why else would he have snuck in under a false name?"

"That's for him to explain," Bryce interjects. "But he's just a civilian. He's not a part of this."

Chuck's not sure whether to be thankful or kind of hurt, but he settles on the former.

"What do I get if I let him go?" the guy asks, rather politely for such a high-stakes situation.

"How about I don't put a bullet through your brain?" Casey responds sarcastically.

The rain pouring down is starting to get to Chuck. His tux is soaked through, and goose bumps are starting to form on his freezing arms.

Chuck hears a sudden _thud _behind him. A jolt to both of them causes the man's grip to slacken. Chuck falls to the rooftop, hitting it on all fours with a sickening _slap_. He coughs violently, raindrops splattering from his lips.

"You weren't counting on me, were you?" Sarah asks the man rhetorically and icily. She gives the man a kick in the head ("Just to be sure," she'll justify later). Her attention is immediately redirected towards Chuck. "Hey, hey, hey." She steps over the immobilized body to kneel beside Chuck. "Are you all right? Look at me. Are you hurt?" she asks with a concerned look on her face, placing a hand on the side of his face.

He shakes her off rather roughly, and gets up on his own, still coughing. She looks affronted, but he's too freaked out to care right now. He turns to get a look at his would-be kidnapper, and his brain immediately goes into overdrive.

"His name's Scott Rushworth. Code name Atticus. Part of the Fulcrum's top circle. Provides more financial backing to the operation than he does to actual planning and execution."

"Good work, Chuck," Bryce congratulates him, slapping his shoulder. "You okay, man?"

Chuck nods absently, not returning Bryce's smile.

"Larkin, help me with this body," Casey orders.

Chuck watches them pick up the body. Rushworth's left arm dangles, his wrist showing out of his suit sleeve. He catches a glimpse of a small tattoo shaped like a tree with four tangled limbs, which sends a series of images flashing across his brain.

"Wait."

"What is it, Bartowski?"

"There are four of them."

"Four?" Bryce asks.

"Yeah. Did you get Mostolowitz?"

"Of course I did," Sarah says defensively.

"Well, sorry, I was a little _preoccupied_." The words come out petulant and vindictive and childish. He takes a breath, and rubs a hand over his eyes. "That leaves one more guy."

"Did you get an image of him?" Bryce inquires.

"No, but his code name's Boreas."

Casey grunts. "How does that help?"

Sarah silences him with a look. "You two take care of Rushworth. We'll find the last guy."

He watches Bryce and Casey, bearing Rushworth's unconscious body, exit into the stairwell. He starts to follow them, wanting more than anything to get into some dry clothes, but Sarah's shout stops him.

"Chuck!"

He doesn't turn, just closes his eyes as raindrops pound into his body.

"Can we talk about this?"

"Now? Don't we have a job to do?"

"That'll be kind of hard, seeing as we're both soaked to the bone."

"Well, then what do you propose?" he asks, turning around angrily. He has no clue why he's so angry with her, but he's finding it hard to dial down his tone after what just happened.

She stares at him for a moment, then steps forward hesitantly. Reaching her arms around his shoulders, she pulls him into a deep, but brief, hug. "I'm just so glad you're okay."

The embrace is so short that he doesn't even have time to respond. By the time he realizes that he should return the gesture, she's gone, walking toward the doorway. He wants her back, wants to wrap himself in her embrace, doesn't even mind the rain soaking him now, he just wants to feel her next to him again.

**  
'Cause you are not alone  
And I am there with you  
And we'll get lost together  
Till the light comes pouring through  
'Cause when you feel like you're done  
And the darkness has won  
Babe, you're not lost  
When the world's crashing down  
And you can not bear to crawl**

Showering calms Chuck, so he takes a nice, long shower to calm himself down after the night's events. He and Sarah managed to, uh, "aggressively convince" (her term) a waiter and waitress to give up their uniforms so they could sneak back into the party. Once in, Chuck had no problem identifying the fourth and final leader of the Fulcrum branch.

So Chuck breathes deeply, and lets the warm water rush over him, wanting to clear his mind. Sarah's given him so many mixed signals the past few days that he can't keep them straight. Hoping her actions stem from confusion brought on by Bryce's unexpected return, he decides that he should talk to her tonight. Once he's relaxed enough, he shuts the water off and hops out of the shower, wrapping a towel around his waist.

Catching sight of himself in the foggy mirror, he can't help but think back to his first date with Sarah, and how nervous he was getting ready. He had thought she was so beautiful, and so amazing for actually being interested in him. He was convinced there was something there, that she could see something in him that most people overlooked. He shakes his head, water flying off his hair, and forces that train of thought from his mind. Thinking like that'll only make him depressed.

He dries himself off, slides into his pajamas, and runs a towel over his hair. Sighing, he knocks quietly on the door to Sarah's room.

"Chuck? Is that you?" Her voice is muffled through the door.

"Yeah. Yeah, it's me."

"Come in."

He walks slowly through the door, only to find her curled up on the bed, her arms wrapped around her tucked-up knees.

"Hey," he says quietly, a tad caught off guard by her vulnerable position. "I thought we could have that talk now."

"Sure." Her smile, no matter how reserved, lights up his world.

"So, what'd you want to talk about?" he asks her, leaning against the door frame.

"Wait! You came in here! You didn't come armed with conversation topics?"

"But you were the one who wanted to talk on the roof!"

His laugh echoes hers, and he realizes that she's unwittingly said everything she felt in that hug that almost crushed the life out of him. She smiles and pats the mattress, and he wastes no time in accepting her offer.

He flops onto the bed, his arms folded under his chin, which makes her giggle. "I think we need some chicken soup."

"Are you feeling sick?" she asks, her voice suddenly thick with concern.

"Eh. It's been a long day, and it's good for the soul." He draws the last word out in an attempt to draw a smile from her lips. It works, and he can't help but love the comfortable atmosphere of this moment.

"Listen," she begins in a serious voice, "I'm sorry I've been . . . difficult the past couple of days."

"Sarah –"

"No," she cuts him off, "I owe you an apology."

He lifts his head to look up at her, and it's hard not to find her breathtakingly beautiful, even with her plaid pajamas and her still-damp hair dangling messily around her face.

"We're friends, right?" he asks in a soft voice.

"Of course," she answers, her voice equally low. She places one of her hands over his and runs her thumb along his knuckles.

"Then I just want you to feel like you can come to me, if you ever need to talk."

She falters, "I'm not the best at talking through my feelings."

"Well, then even if you don't want to talk. If you just need to be with someone who cares about you, who understands you – somewhat – I want you to know that I'll be there, Sarah. Don't ever forget that."

She's silent for so long that he gets uncomfortable and looks away. He's about to excuse himself when she whispers, "I won't."

He looks back at her, a grin lighting up his face. "Good."

She returns his smile. "Wanna watch a movie?"

He nods, and she flips on the television. They climb under the covers, leaning against the headboard.

"Ooh, wait! Go back! That's _Serenity_," he exclaims, his hands gesticulating wildly to emphasize his enthusiasm.

"Oh, come on! I've seen that movie at least 8 times since I've met you. I don't even want to think about how many times you've seen it before I came along," she protests, but turns back to that channel anyway.

Two minutes later, he glances over at her to find her thoroughly engrossed in the movie. He decides to call her out on that later, though, reveling in the feeling of just being with her. He feels courageous enough to wrap an arm around her back, and, to his surprise, she doesn't object. His happiness increases when she snuggles into him, resting her head on his shoulder, and he's pretty sure that he can stay like this forever.

**  
I said, baby, you're not lost  
I said, baby, you're not lost  
I said, baby, you're not lost  
I said, baby, you're not lost**


	8. I Just Can't Live a Lie

Song: "I Just Can't Live a Lie," by Carrie Underwood

A/N: This isn't my best chapter, but I'm trying to get back in the swing of things during break. And who doesn't love some girl bonding time? Seriously, Sarah and Ellie need some more bonding time on the show.

Also, on a completely random note, I'm watching _Spiral _right now. Not the most inspiring movie, lol. It's great, though.

* * *

**Lately nothing I do ever seems to please you  
And maybe turning my back would be that much easier  
Cause hurtful words are all that we exchange  
But I can't watch you walk away**

"Damn it, Chuck! Why can't you just listen to me?" Sarah yells as she storms after Chuck, her voice echoing throughout the empty courtyard. She hates shouting at him, but sometimes there's no other way to get her point across.

He turns on his heel and says viciously, "Maybe I would if you ever said anything worth listening to." He clenches his jaw, but immediately looks regretful about his words.

They sting her more than they should. She's better than this. She should be able to push past the hurt and dig underneath the surface to that place where nothing gets to her. But even as she tries to stop his comment from getting to her, she knows that it's not the words that are affecting her. She feels it so deeply precisely because _he_ was the one to say them.

He breathes heavily, his chest moving rapidly, and stares at his sneakers. She wants nothing more than to walk away from this whole thing right now, to give it all up and go back to what she's good at. She is definitely not good at this – this dancing around each other thing, this not daring to tell the other how they feel.

But as terrified and overwhelmed as their interactions make her feel, she'd never be able to just walk away from him.

Sarah's thoughts are cut off by Ellie, who comes running out of the apartment.

"Chuck! Sarah! Is everything all right? Why are you shouting?"

Chuck looks up in surprise and stutters a bit, reluctant to involve his sister in their argument.

Ellie looks over at Sarah for an explanation. Her face expresses so much bewilderment that Sarah has to look away.

"I should go," she says quietly, taking a step backward.

"No, Sarah, don't leave," Ellie urges.

Sarah flicks a glance at Chuck. He's silent, staring at the ground moodily with his arms crossed. He makes no move to stop her.

"No, sorry, Ellie, but I should really be going." She turns, and as she's walking out of the courtyard, she hears, "Chuck! Don't just stand there – get her back!"  
**  
Can I forget about the way it feels to touch you?  
And all about the good times that we've been through  
Could I wake up without you every day?  
Would I let you walk away?  
No, I can't learn to live without  
And I can't give up on us now**

The drive back to her apartment is nearly unbearable. She tries to keep her mind on the road, but it refuses to obey, wandering back to her fight with Chuck. She can barely remember how it started, but it had been stupid, she realizes now. Even months into this assignment, she's only just learning that she can't deal with him like she's used to dealing with people in her line of work. She can't just yell at him and expect him to put up with it. She needs to sit him down and rationally explain her side of the argument.

Frustrated, she slams her hand on the steering wheel.

Memories of her days with him race through her mind. That time Morgan actually invited her to their video game night. And Chuck was so flustered when she showed up, he tripped on his way over to the door, trying to get her out as quickly as possible. Then Morgan explained that he had invited her and chastised his best buddy for not being nicer to his own girlfriend. And that time she and Chuck were supposed to be out on a "date," but got a flat tire. She had more fun helping Chuck change the flat than she ever had doing the boring old dinner and a movie routine. And that time Chuck took her down to the pier, simply because she was having a bad day. He never fails to put a smile on her face, and that day was no exception. Chuck wouldn't let her pay for anything, and by the end of the night, they had consumed way too much sugar in the form of cotton candy, funnel cakes, and ice cream.

She loves seeing him in that capacity – as a friend. She loves just spending time with him, lounging around on his living room couch in the evenings, talking about absolutely nothing. She loves the normalcy of his life. She loves . . . everything he offers her.

As she enters her empty apartment, she rebukes herself for letting her emotions get the better of her today. She can keep her most passionate feelings for him hidden, so why does she have such a problem keeping the rest of her emotions in check? She sighs. In just a few months, she's gone from a one of the agency's best to a love-struck fool whose world's been thrown off its fragile axis.

**Oh, I know I could say we're through  
And tell myself I'm over you  
But even if I made a vow  
I promise not to miss you now  
And try to hide the truth inside  
I'd fail cause I, I just can't live a lie**

Sarah runs a hand over her eyes, trying to relax. She heads into the bathroom to draw herself a bath. Letting the water run, she digs through the cupboard under the sink and pulls out a bottle of bubble bath. Geeze, when was the last time she had a bubble bath? She's not even sure why she has a bottle, but right now she's thankful she does.

She watches with pleasure as the tub fills and the bubbles foam up. She strips quickly, letting her clothes fall into piles onto the tile. Testing the water temperature with one foot, she crawls in slowly and sinks down onto the bottom of the tub. The hot water is therapeutic, and her tense muscles automatically begin to relax.

Every day when she wakes up, she has to remind herself of the duty expected of her – from Casey, from Graham, even from Scooter, but mostly from Chuck. Until this assignment, her job was second nature. She never had to worry about putting her heart above her head before, but now she has to constantly readjust her priorities. Her feelings for Chuck are dangerous. If they interfere with a mission, they could get him wounded, or even killed. And since she's been assigned to protect him, that wouldn't be the best outcome, in more than one sense.

She stares at her wrinkled fingertips with vacant eyes, reluctant to get out of the bathtub. The water's lukewarm and the bubbles have disappeared when her phone rings, and she can tell it's Chuck from the ringtone. But her phone's sitting on the sink and she doesn't feel like climbing out of the tub to answer it, and she's still not sure she wants to talk to him this soon anyways. She lost her head today, and she can't afford that again.

Even though she doesn't answer the phone, the call wakes her up, jolts her out of an alternate reality she thinks she might have slipped into. She stands up slowly, dries herself off, and heads to her bedroom to dress in the loosest, most comfortable clothes she can find. Even after the hot bath, she feels cold, so she throws on sweatpants and a long-sleeved t-shirt. After making herself a mug of hot chocolate, she sinks onto the couch, wrapping a blanket around her shoulders.

**Could I forget the look that tells me that you want me?  
And all the reasons that make loving you so easy  
The kiss that always makes it hard to breathe  
The way you know just what I mean  
No, I can't learn to live without  
Ohh, so don't you give up on us now**

Sipping her hot chocolate, she still can't get the argument with Chuck out of her mind, and her thoughts threaten to overwhelm her. She rarely cries, but she's surprised to find tears welling up in her eyes. Instead of holding the tears back as she had in the bathroom, she lets them fall, and they cascade over her cheeks and onto the blanket draped over her shoulders. Sobs rack her body, and she makes no move to check them. It's been so long since she's wept substantially that it's almost a relief just to let it all out.

Unexpectedly, she finds herself thinking of the time she and Chuck shared a kiss when they thought they were about to be blown up. No one had ever kissed her like he had, and she had never put so much desire and passion into one kiss. It seemed to be a once-in-a-lifetime kind of event, something she's sure she'll never experience again, but that doesn't keep her from wanting it desperately. One kiss had never lasted so long for her, and never seemed so short.

Even now, that kiss serves a touchstone for her, a turning point, the defining moment of her life. It's the moment she let down her guard to let him see her feelings for him, and her life is forever divided into before and after. Luckily, he was enough of a gentleman to let the subject drop afterwards. But the tension between them hasn't dissipated. And their argument this afternoon grew out of that unrelieved tension.

Her phone rings a few more times, and she still ignores it. She sighs, and takes another sip of hot chocolate. He just makes it so easy, with his goofy smile and his expressive eyes and his open, trusting heart. She was already in love with him before she realized she was falling, and by that time it was too late.  
**  
Ohh, I know I could say we're through  
And tell myself I'm over you  
But even if I made a vow  
I promise not to miss you now  
And try to hide the truth inside  
I'd fail cause I, I just can't live a lie  
Ohh, and I don't wanna try**

Eventually, the tears subside, and her thoughts are interrupted by a knock on the door. Caught off guard, Sarah jumps slightly and drags herself off the couch to answer it, checking first to make sure it's not Chuck.

"Ellie!" Sarah exclaims softly, surprised. She wasn't even sure that Ellie knew where she lived.

"Sarah, I'm so glad you're in! Listen, my brother's an idiot. I just, I wanted to make sure you were all right."

Ellie's concern is touching. Normally, Sarah would gently refuse her kindness, careful of getting too close to anyone (Except Chuck, of course. With him, she has fewer such reservations.). But today, today had been so horrible that Sarah's genuinely in need of a friend. So instead of answering Ellie, she moves forward, pulling the older woman into a tight hug. This is hard considering Ellie's holding a pizza box, a six pack of beer, a grocery bag filled with chips and pretzels, and a couple of rented movies. Nonetheless, she makes an effort to return the embrace.

"Well, hey, I figured it was still early and what the hell! I brought pizza and some movies."

"Ellie, that is so sweet of you. Come on in."

She leads the way to the living room. The brunette sets the pizza down on the coffee table, and falls onto the couch.

"I hate to tell you this, Sarah, but you look kind of horrible." She grabs a bottle and offers it to the younger woman. "Have a beer."

Sarah accepts it with a sad smile, and downs the first few sips with pleasure. She hasn't had wallowing beer in a while.

"I didn't have a whole lot of time to throw this care package together, mainly because I didn't actually know you and Chuck were back together, so I ran to the movie rental place and grabbed the best stuff I could find."

Sarah senses that this could get sticky, so she tries to head off Ellie's unasked question. "Uh . . . Chuck and I have a very complicated relationship."

"I've noticed." Ellie's eyes widen in . . . confusion? Frustration? Sarah's not quite sure. "But I swear we don't have to talk about that unless you want to. Now, I brought _How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days_, _Miss Congeniality_, _Alex & Emma_, and _Hitch_.

Sarah stares blankly.

"Don't tell me you haven't seen _any_ of these!" Sarah's weak smile confirms Ellie's suspicions. "Sarah! Have you been living in a hole the past few years?"

"Something like that."

"Okay, I'll go get some napkins. Pick one that intrigues you."

Sarah settles on _How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days_, and ten minutes later, she and Ellie are into the movie and pigging out on pizza and beer. She's never been one for romantic comedies, but she has to admit that this one's pretty enjoyable. And by the middle of _Hitch_, she's feeling considerably happier than she was only a few hours before.

**Ohhhh, I know I could say we're through  
And tell myself I'm over you  
But even if I made a vow  
I promise not to miss you now  
And try to hide the truth inside  
I'd fail cause I, I just can't live a lie  
I just can't live a lie**

Four movies, four slices of pizza, and two beers later, Sarah's ready to sleep off her day of bad judgment. But Ellie's still here, and she can tell by the look on the older woman's face that she wants to talk. Specifically, she wants to talk about her relationship with Chuck.

"Thanks, Ellie, for being such a good friend."

"I'm just glad I could help in a non-doctorly way." They're quiet for a minute, and Sarah leans her head on her hand before Ellie continues. "Do you mind if I ask what your fight was about?"

Sarah doesn't answer right away. They'd been on a mission and things had soured. She can't explain that to Ellie. "It was really stupid. I'm not even sure how it started. Your brother's a little . . "

"Stubborn?"

"There ya go." Sarah's surprised at the rapidity with which Ellie provides the exact word she was looking for, but then she remembers that Ellie's lived with him for 27 years, and that she, as his sister, knows him much better than Sarah ever will.

"I think," Ellie begins, drawing her knees up around her arms, "I think he's still trying to find his way a little bit. So, if you just give him a bit more time, maybe, he'll start to figure things out."

They're quiet again, mainly because Sarah has lost all idea how to interact with intimate friends. The silence is broken by her cell phone vibrating on the coffee table. It had rung so many times during the movies that Sarah was forced to put it on vibrate. Glancing at the phone, she sees Chuck's face come up on the screen. He's called at least a dozen times since his sister's been here. Sarah makes no move to answer it, but can feel Ellie's eyes on her.

The phone stops ringing as Ellie says quietly, as if afraid of the other woman, "Why don't you talk to him?"

Sarah shakes her head, staring straight ahead. "I . . . I can't."

Ellie takes another sip of beer, then pops up from her seat. "Come on!" she exclaims, grabbing Sarah by the hand and pulling her off the couch. "We need to sort this out before any of us get any more pathetic."

**But even if I made a vow  
I promise not to miss you now  
And try to hide the truth inside  
I'd fail cause I, I just can't live a lie  
Oh, I cant live a lie**

Ellie won't let Sarah drive back to the Bartowski apartment, so she slinks in the passenger seat, trying to rehearse an apology. But even with years of agency training, she can't think of a single thing to say that won't make her sound like she's twelve years old. It's nearly two in the morning, but she feels wide awake. From the looks of it, Ellie does, too.

They pull up to the apartment complex, but Sarah suddenly doesn't want to get out of the car. Ellie hops out, not noticing that Sarah doesn't follow until she's halfway to the door. She turns and heads back to the car, knocking on Sarah's window. Sheepishly, Sarah climbs out. With a smile, Ellie grabs her hand and gives it a squeeze.

"Hey," Ellie says reassuringly, "It's just Chuck."

"Yeah," Sarah responds, her mouth dry.

When they step inside the house, Chuck emerges from the kitchen, a worried look on his face.

"Oh, my God! Ellie! Where have you been?" he exclaims and pulls his sister into a hug. But he stops rambling when he sees Sarah. "Sarah." His voice is soft, confused.

She nods, and Ellie quietly removes herself from the situation.

"Uh . . . hey." He sticks his hands in his back pockets, and offers a slight smile.

She doesn't know how to start, so she simply motions to the couch, where they sit awkwardly for a few minutes.

"I, uh, I didn't think you wanted to talk to me," he says with a small laugh.

"No," she begins, "that's not it at all, Chuck. I just . . . I needed some time to think, some time to cool down. That's all."

"I'm sorry about this afternoon. It was stupid."

"Yeah, it was. And I apologize, too. I never should have let my temper get the better of me." She leans back against the back of the couch, suddenly very tired. She twiddles her thumbs for a minute, listening to his gentle exhalations, before saying quickly, "I can't do this anymore." The confession is abrupt, startling even herself.

He shakes his head once, baffled. "Do what?"

"This. With you. It's wearing me down."

He stares at her, wanting more but afraid to ask. She turns her head to face him, and she can't explain how it happens but their faces are suddenly inches apart. She's not sure what they're doing is right, even as she feels the shock of his lips on hers, or as she lets him lead her down the hallway to his bedroom. But when she wakes up in the morning, with his arms around her and a smile on her face, she finally realizes that, for the first time in months, she's truly, incandescently happy.


	9. Carve Your Heart Out Yourself

Song: "Carve Your Heart Out Yourself," by Dashboard Confessional.

A/N: I was halfway through this chapter before I realized that this one and the previous two chapters all involve Chuck and Sarah fighting. Apologies. I swear I'm not in as bad a mood as these make it seem. I've been eating pancakes lately (lots!), and they've been _amazing_! So I'm really in a great mood. :)

* * *

**Carve your heart out yourself  
Hopelessness is your cell  
Since you've drawn out these lines  
Are you protected from trying times?**

He never knows how they end up in these confrontations, but they do, time and again. It's a stalemate, like it always is. Though instead of shouting at each other, they express their anger in heated whispers, not wanting to wake the neighbors. They're in the courtyard, the usual scene of their frequent verbal fights. She's close to him now, poking her index finger into his chest. She's so close that he can feel her breath on his chin, and smell the faint scent of her shampoo. Damn. That's all it takes for him to forget what this stupid argument's about.

He hates this routine that they've fallen into. Unable to express his feelings for her in any normal way, like buying her flowers or cooking her dinner, he finds that his frustration overwhelms him easily. A wrong word from her, even a look, is enough to send him over the edge nowadays. He's constantly on his toes, wondering what's going to set off his temper.

She's so strong. He doesn't understand why she needs this release. Why can't she unleash her adrenaline some other way? Go to the gym? Or the shooting range? Anything other than fighting with him.

He slumps his shoulders in defeat and sinks onto the rim of the fountain. Instead of reveling in her apparent victory, she seems to realize that it was too easy, and her eyes soften. He hangs his hand, running his hands over his eyes. Through his splayed fingers, he can see her move toward him. She sits next to him, her thigh resting against his. Rubbing his back with one hand, she leans her forehead on his shoulder. He shifts his arms to take her free hand in his. It's the kind of weird, wordless apology that she always offers and he always accepts.

**Man, it takes a silly girl to lie about the dreams she has  
Lord, it takes a lonely one to wish that she had never dreamt at all  
Oh, look now, there you go with hope again  
Oh, you're so sure I'll be leaving in the end **

They sit like that for a few minutes, intimately connected. And even though he doesn't want to argue anymore, he can't quite let it go either.

"Why?" he asks quietly, his voice cracking.

She raises her head to look in his eyes. "Why what?" she asks, with a patient, slightly patronizing tone.

"Why do we keep fighting like this?" He wants to add that he feels like they've been married for a decade, but thinks a joke wouldn't go over too well right now.

She shifts away from him, massages a temple with her fingers. "You ask that like I _want_ to fight with you." Her tone reveals the pain she's been hiding.

"Of course not. But you have to admit that it's been," he stops and takes a deep breath. He wants to tell her that it's been frustrating and exhausting, and that all he wants to do is wrap her in his arms, but struggles with how to reveal that. Scratching his cheek, he notices her waiting expectantly. "That it's been disrupting our missions." There. She can't deny that excuse.

"You're right. It's unprofessional."

"Well, it's not like we can just stop fighting. We're not doing it on purpose."

"Chuck," she exclaims, a bit too loudly for nearly midnight, "I don't know what to tell you." She sighs. "Don't you have the early shift tomorrow? You should get some sleep. We'll talk about this tomorrow."

She rises from the fountain, but he grabs her wrist.

"I thought we were at least friends, Sarah," he says, with only the tiniest hint of a challenge behind his words. He hates having to keep going over this, having to remind themselves that they're friends.

She turns around, looking down at him. She confesses softly, "We are."

"Friends talk things through.'

She glances away, exasperated. "We _will_ talk about this, Chuck, but tomorrow. I'm _tired_."

Wow. She's whiny. It's so uncharacteristic that he relents, releasing her wrist. She leaves the courtyard, her footsteps slapping the cobblestones somewhat heavily.

"Goodnight," he says quietly, and to his surprise, she turns and gives him a small smile.

And somewhere deep down he realizes it's easier for her to push him away.

**Dig a ditch deep enough  
To keep you clear of the sun  
You've been burned more than once  
You don't think much of trust **

When he leaves for work in the morning, he's surprised to find her standing outside his door, wearing that ridiculous Wienerlicious outfit, two coffee cups in hand. She offers him one wordlessly, the same small smile on her face that she left with last night. He accepts it and nods his thanks, jingling his keys in his free hand. The warm liquid washes over his tongue, and he realizes she's gotten him his favorite – hazelnut.

Before he can thank her properly, though, Morgan pops out of nowhere.

"Ready for work, buddy?" he says, a little too loudly for seven in the morning.

"You betcha, Morgan."

It's one of the rare days that they all have the early shift, so the three of them plus Casey pile into the Nerd Herder and Chuck prepares for an extremely awkward ride. He doesn't have to worry too much, as Morgan is quite happy to jabber away without waiting for responses from the rest of them. Sarah graciously let him sit in the front seat, so she's in the back with Casey. Both are silent, staring out their respective windows.

Chuck catches glimpses of her through the rear-view mirror when he's not paying attention to the road. Her eyes look heavy, like she's barely slept. He desperately wants to continue their talk, but there'll be no time until at least his lunch break, and that's not the best time to reopen fresh wounds anyway. So he decides to wait until this evening to broach the topic. Maybe he'll invite her for dinner, and they can talk afterwards.

The drive, thankfully, is short. He drops Sarah off, and she hops out quickly.

He rolls down the window to say, "Have a great day."

She turns back to give a small wave, then disappears into the Wienerlicious. He drives the short distance to the Buy More and parks. Morgan, perky from he doesn't know what, runs ahead into the store, probably eager to see Anna. Chuck walks slowly, still sipping his coffee.

"We're trained not to trust people. You're new territory for her."

He chokes on his coffee and turns around, startled. He had almost forgotten Casey was behind him. He sputters, not sure whether to thank Casey for this unexpected piece of information or to ask for more. Casey raises an eyebrow, and continues walking, carrying that silly backpack of his.

"So what should I do?"

Casey shrugs, clearly intimating that he doesn't want to get any more involved than he already has.

Chuck's shocked, mainly because of Casey's hint that he wouldn't entirely be against Chuck and Sarah beginning a relationship, even if it were against agency protocol. After a second's debate, he runs after the NSA agent.

"Casey! Casey, wait!"

Casey turns around, not amused. "What is it, Bartowski?"

Chuck's suddenly worried, because there are no customers around yet to be eyewitnesses in case Casey accidentally goes a little Chuck Norris. "I just . . . come on, Casey. Help me out?" he requests pathetically. Casey sucks in a deep breath, and Chuck changes tactics. "You know Sarah pretty well, right?"

The older man grunts, flicking a glance over at Jeff and Lester, who cower and dash toward the break room. "Not really,"

"Oh." Chuck's face falls, and he heads to the Nerd Herd desk.

"Look, you've already broken down some of her walls. That scares her. But obviously you're doing something right."

He swivels to face his coworker, but Casey's thoughts are a million miles away. Chuck recognizes the look he gets when he thinks of Ilsa, and he suddenly realizes why Casey's not as against his currently undefined relationship with Sarah as he should be. He reaches out to pat Casey on the shoulder. "Thanks, man."

Casey's brows narrow. "Don't touch me."

He shoves Chuck away roughly and heads to restock some shelves. Chuck shakes himself off, but can't stop the smile that appears on his face.

**Man, it takes a silly girl to lie about the dreams she has  
Lord, it takes a lonely one to wish that she had never dreamt at all  
Oh, look now, there you go with hope again  
But I'll be sure your secret is safe with me  
Oh, you're so sure I'll be leaving in the end  
Treating me like I'm already gone**

Walking briskly down the hallway, Chuck realizes that if he's going to do this, it needs to be done quickly. He tries to school his breathing, but the effort just manages to make him more nervous. By now, he knows she's got cameras or something out here to alert her to visitors or enemies, but he doesn't want to just burst in on her. So he ends up switching the flowers to his left hand and knocking. Instead of waiting for a reply, he turns the knob and pushes the door open gently.

"Chuck?" Her voice is surprised.

He opens the door all the way now, and steps inside.

"Hi," he says breathlessly, extending his arm to offer her the flowers. She's dressed in sweats and a t-shirt, her hair pulled up messily into a ponytail. She must have been about to make tea or coffee, because she holds an empty mug in one hand. Accepting the flowers in her other hand, she nevertheless looks extremely confused.

Before she can ask any questions, though, he jumps in. "Listen, Sarah, I know things have been . . . tense for the past couple of weeks, but I don't want that anymore. We could, I really think we could be great, if you'll just give us a chance. I know you've probably been hurt before. I've been hurt, too. But I swear to you, I'm not going anywhere."

He's breathing heavily, and she's just staring at him. He wishes she would say something, _anything_, and just when he thinks she's going to reject him he feels the warmth of her body against his. After a second of shock, he pours all of his pent-up emotions into that kiss, reveling in the feeling of her fingers running through his hair. She responds as if they only have three seconds to live, but this time, the desperation in her kiss has been replaced by happiness. They break apart, and he's doubly enchanted by the smile that lights up her face. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see the bouquet and the mug lying forgotten on the floor.

She takes his hand with a laugh and leads him overto the bed, and he can't help but think with a smile that they've found a much better way of relieving their tension.

**But I'm not, I will stay where you are always  
I will stay, I will stay, I will stay  
**


	10. Let Me Go

Song: "Let Me Go," by 3 Doors Down.

A/N: Sorry for the delay, peeps! I'm actually pretty happy with this chapter, so I hope you enjoy it. The lyrics don't follow exactly, but I think the song works pretty well in general.**  
**

* * *

**One more kiss could be the best thing  
But one more lie could be the worst  
And all these thoughts are never resting  
And you're not something I deserve  
**

Sarah keeps her face turned toward the television, but glances over at Chuck from the corner of her eyes. The bluish light from the screen illuminates his face, and the effect is mesmerizing. She shifts on the couch, curling her feet underneath her. He doesn't take his eyes off the movie, merely waits for her to get comfortable, then replaces his hand over hers, brushing his thumb along her palm.

She has no idea what they're doing. They're not dating, but they're not exactly just platonic friends either. She's taking each day at a time, trying to figure out things as they go. She can see Ellie flick a glance and a smile at them from her perch on the easy chair, where she's tangled in Awesome's arms. Ellie's asked her more than once where she stands with Chuck before realizing that Sarah herself doesn't even know. Sarah turns to see Morgan and Anna cuddled together on the other end of the couch, Morgan stroking his girlfriend's hair.

Suddenly overwhelmed by the amount of . . . _defined relationship_ in the room, she rises from the couch and heads toward the kitchen. Chuck's attention is finally drawn from the movie. He turns toward her, his arm outstretched because he won't let go of her hand and a question etched on his face.

"Relax," she whispers with a smile at his concern, "I'm just getting some more water."

He nods and releases her hand. She pads softly into the kitchen, breathing deeply and running a hand through her hair. She refills her glass, but doesn't return to the living room right away. Instead, she leans on the counter, watching the group of friends – _her_ friends. She revels in the fact that she's building a new life for herself, but recognizes the danger in that. She knew was she was giving up in joining the agency, and she can't go back on that now, not because a nice guy with a goofy grin and an awkward, honest way of loving her came along. She's amazed how completely he can love her, despite the fact that he barely knows her.

But even as she promises herself, she realizes that something's changed between the two of them. He's opened his heart for her, and she can't go back to the way things used to be. She's been coasting along, not making a decision about her feelings either way. She's been hiding behind her job, but she needs to start _living_.

The movie's almost over, and Chuck's smiling in anticipation of the climax. She doesn't want this night to end, because she loves nights like this. They make her feel normal again. She wants that normal life with him, but at the same time, she's not sure she deserves it. He's so good, so kind. And after all the things she's seen, all the things she's done, how can she tell him about her life in the agency? About the men and women she's killed? It's such a huge part of her identity that she needs to tell him eventually.

Eventually. But not tonight.

Returning to her seat on the couch, she takes a chance and leans into him. The surprise is evident on his face, but he reaches an arm across her back, allowing her to snuggle into him. For the remainder of the movie, she's just Sarah Walker, a woman in love with Chuck Bartowski.  
**  
In my head there's only you now  
This world falls on me  
In this world there's real and make believe  
And this seems real to me**

Chuck walks her to her car, but before she can drive away, Casey pops out of the bushes.

"Hey, Walker, hold up," he says quietly, approaching her car.

She rolls down the window, thinking he has a message from the directors. "What is it?"

"Don't ya think it's time you and I had a little chat?" he asks rhetorically, sitting on his haunches and leaning his arms on the open window frame.

She looks straight ahead, ticked off that he has to choose right now to have this conversation. What if Chuck or Ellie comes outside and sees them? She sighs, and waits for him to broach the subject.

Casey stares at her accusingly. "You're getting too close to him."

"I'm not sure that's any of your business, Casey," she responds coldly.

"It is if it ever gets in the way of a mission, which I'm sure it will eventually."

She turns her head to look at him now. "Isn't it better to have people who care about him protecting him?"

He scoffs, but she knows he catches the intimation that he's come to care for Chuck in his own strange way. Suddenly looking weary, he rubs his eyes. "What are you going to do about it?"

"My job is to protect him, and that's exactly what I intend to do." Her voice is strong, and brooks no room for argument.

Casey's face assumes a look of disapproval. "You know I could report you for this. They'll drag your ass out of here faster than you can recite the Bill of Rights."

She doesn't respond, simply looks at him. They both know she has more than enough information she can report to their superiors on him, too. Her gaze isn't pleading, but it's soft.

He grimaces, finally relenting. "Be careful," he warns uncharacteristically, standing up.

Her eyebrows raise. She's not quite sure what he's warning against. Letting the directors find out? Hurting Chuck? Despite his protests, Casey's grown fond of the Bartowskis and their group of friends. She knows that he wouldn't want to see them hurt, and neither would she. She nods, grateful that he's somewhat on her side.

"Goodnight, Casey," she says, and shifts into drive.

He bids her goodnight as she pulls away into the night.

**You love me but you don't know who I am  
I'm torn between this life I lead and where I stand  
And you love me but you don't know who I am  
So let me go  
Let me go**

"Take me down to Paradise City, where the grass is green and the girls are prettyyyyyyyy!" Chuck practically screams.

Sarah's glad she opened the car windows, if only to let out the noise coming from the passenger's side, but she can't help the grin that appears on her face. He rarely fails to make her laugh, especially if he achieves it by making a fool of himself.

"Come on, Sarah! Sing it with me!" He urges in between lines. The glint of amusement in his eyes is more than enough to make her relent and she joins in, adding her off-key soprano without a hint of self-consciousness. Within seconds, she and Chuck can barely sing for laughing so hard, and tears are streaming out of her eyes so that she can hardly see the road.

Before long, though, they arrive at the beach. Sarah pulls smoothly into a parking spot, looking over at Chuck with a smile on her face. From the parking lot, she can see that the rest of the group has already arrived. Morgan and Anna are playing Frisbee, Ellie's lounging with a book, and Awesome's waxing his surfboard. Anna looks up and sees them.

"Sarah! Chuckles!" she shouts, waving.

Morgan looks up at the exact moment that Anna throws the Frisbee. It hits him in the stomach, stunning him. Sarah winces, and Chuck actually jumps.

"Ouch," Chuck mutters, then turns to gather up the beach gear from the car.

"I'm all right," Morgan yells, and Sarah smiles. It's just a plastic Frisbee, after all.

They head down to the sand and make their way over to the party. Ellie stands up to greet them. Sarah hugs her and waves to Awesome, who looks up from his surfboard with a grin.

"Hey, sis," Chuck says with a smile.

"Hey. Do you know if John's coming?"

"I'm not sure. Sorry." He glances at Sarah, amused. He'd love to see how Casey conducted himself at the beach. In fact, she'd like to see that, too, but she doesn't really care if he shows up or not. She just wants to enjoy spending the day with friends, especially with this man beside her.

"Do you surf, Sarah?"

She turns to talk to Awesome, but immediately glances back at Chuck, almost as if asking him to lead. He's preoccupied with spreading out the beach blanket, though, so she's on her own with this one.

"Yeah, I've tried it a few times, actually."

Devon lets out an excited laugh. "Awesome. None of these guys'll go with me. There's a board rental place down the beach a ways."

"Sure. I'd love to try it again." She turns to Chuck, who's in the midst of falling down onto the freshly-laid blanket. "What about you, Chuck? Are you going to surf with us?"

"Heh," he laughs, glancing up from where he's plopped down on the blanket, "I think I'll stick to boogie-boarding and sandcastle-building, thank you."

"Hey, Chuck!" Morgan drops the Frisbee onto his friend's stomach. "Wanna go swim? Anna and I have been waiting for you to show up."

Chuck opens his eyes. "Sure, buddy." He gets up and strips off his t-shirt. "Coming, Sarah?"

Sarah's breath catches in her throat. She's never actually seen Chuck shirtless, and it's a very pleasant sight. Far from the pale, thin body she was expecting, his chest is broad and his arms are well-defined. Well, okay, he's still a little pale, but a few hours in the sun will help that. And she kind of has a thing for pale guys anyway.

"Um, uh, yeah," she stammers, "Just, let me . . . ." She moves to edge of the blanket to shed her tank top and shorts, revealing a dark red bikini.

Now it's Chuck's turn to stare. But instead of ogling, he's polite about it, and his eyes quickly rise to meet hers. He grins and reaches out for her hand.

"Last one to the water's a rotten egg!" Morgan yells, and the four of them take off running. It doesn't bother Sarah that she and Chuck are the last ones to the ocean, because they're connected, and that's all that matters to her.  
**  
I dream ahead to what I hope for  
And I turn my back on loving you  
How can this love be a good thing  
When I know what I'm going through**

Chuck still holds her hand as they run into the ocean, sending waves splashing. Once they're out far enough, he sinks into the water and dips his head underneath, resurfacing and shaking the water out of his hair and eyes. She watches him with amusement.

"What's a matter?" he asks with a crafty smile. "Afraid of getting your hair wet?"

"Of course not," she responds, and promptly accepts the challenge.

As soon as she emerges, she feels a splash of water from behind. She turns to face her attacker. It's Morgan, wearing an innocent expression and trying to hide behind Anna. She's not used to water battles, but soon an all-out war begins.

Fifteen minutes later, the battle's still raging, and Sarah's forsaken all her training in favor of having a good time.

"No fair! No using me for cover!" Chuck sputters as Sarah tries to duck behind him and Anna's splash of water hits him full in the face. He swims to his left, but she grabs his ankle as he kicks. He stops abruptly, almost sinking. She pulls him back, and his head bobs above the surface.

"It's not my fault you're the tallest person here!" she laughs.

He swivels his body to face her, but she doesn't let go of his ankle, just shoots him a mischievous grin. She pulls him in towards her, finally releasing his foot. He swallows, and wraps his arms around her back. Suddenly nervous at his closeness, her breathing is heavy. But he runs one hand slowly down her bare back, and she feels confident enough to lean one hand on his chest, her fingertips twirling the light dusting of hair.

Chuck gives her a lopsided smile, and the rest of the world fades away. She takes a step closer. His lips are only inches from hers, so close that she can feel the warmth of his breath on her mouth. Tentatively, hesitantly, she begins to close the gap.

"Hey, lovebirds!"

Sarah and Chuck turn only to receive what amounts to a bucket-full of water in their faces.

"Serves you right for getting distracted during this intense game," Morgan jokes.

Anna slaps him playfully.

**In my head there's only you now  
This world falls on me  
In this world there's real and make believe  
And this seems real to me**

Five hours later, night's fallen and the boys have built a small bonfire. Sarah's perfectly content. Now, in one of Chuck's old Stanford sweatshirts, she's sitting on the sand in front of him, leaning against him, his arms around her waist. When she leans her head back against his shoulder, he lets out a comfortable sigh.

Like when they were watching the movie the other night, she feels like she could stay with these people forever, carve herself out a whole new life. Yeah, she'd be totally fine with shedding her old life.

She offers to roast a marshmallow for Chuck, and Anna hands her the bag.

"How do you like it?"

"Hmmm . . . some like it hot!"

She rolls her eyes, and she can see Ellie do the same across the fire.

He chuckles, "I like it brown and gooey."

She nods, and relaxes into a more comfortable position. The group, mesmerized by the flames, is quiet for the most part, having exhausted many of the usual topics earlier in the evening – video games, extreme sports, work, the imminent wedding. Ellie practically squeals in delight every time the wedding's mentioned, which Sarah finds amusing. Ellie and Devon deserve to be as happy as they are, and Sarah is sure that happiness will last.

The marshmallow finally reaches an acceptable shade of brown, and she pulls it away from the fire. Handing it to Chuck, he eats it in one bite.

"Mmmm . . . delicious!" he says through the mouthful of gooey goodness, approving with a smile. Some of the stickiness from inside the marshmallow gets on his mouth.

She laughs, and has the urge to kiss it away. But she fights it and simply tells him, "You're a mess," reaching up to wipe away the goo. He kisses her on the cheek, and she's glad it's nighttime so no one can see her blush.

"Thank you, Sarah," he says intimately in her ear.

She suddenly remembers the promise she made to herself a few nights ago – the promise to start living. She turns her face to the side and whispers, "Let's take a walk."

He nods, removing his arms from her waist. Standing, he reaches down a hand to help her up.

"Chuck?" Ellie questions, curious but wary of being over-protective.

"Oh, we're just going to take a walk."

Ellie nods, smiling at the couple.

Chuck takes Sarah's hand, guiding her toward the shore. They wade in the water, letting the waves wash over their feet. She keeps her hand in his, locking their fingers. After a few minutes, she leads him down the shoreline, away from the fire and their friends. The beach is almost deserted this time of night, and Sarah's thankful. She's not sure she could do this with a lot of witnesses.

Chuck's quiet, almost as if he understands her need to gather her thoughts. They walk leisurely in silence, and she's happy just to hold Chuck's hand and to stroll with him in the moonlight. She watches the light reflecting off the water, amazed that she has time to stop and notice it, to actually _see_ it. On any other assignment, she'd never have time for distractions like walking on the beach or watching the moonlight.

When they reach an acceptable distance from any late beachgoers, she slows to a stop, and turns to face him, smiling.

"Hey," he says softly, returning her smile.

Closing her eyes almost involuntarily, she leans her head against his chest, allowing him to envelop her in his arms once again. They stand like that for a while, swaying ever so slightly to the music in Chuck's head.

As pleasant as this is, though, delaying her confession will only make it harder. She takes a deep breath. He notices, pulling away a bit and looking down at her. She looks straight into his eyes. Their brown color is barely discernible in the moonlight, but the love expressed in them gives her enough courage to go forward.

"Chuck, I want this with you. I want . . . a relationship." She swallows, "And I know I'm not the best at relationships, but if I'm ever going to figure them out, I want to be figuring them out with you."

She catches her breath, and he looks at her, amazement engraved on his face. Taking a step toward her, he cradles her cheek in one hand and gives her a dazzling smile. He leans forward, but stops before the expected kiss.

"Are you sure about this?" he asks, his thumb caressing her cheek tenderly.

She starts to nod, but changes her mind halfway through. "No, Chuck, I'm not sure at all. But I do know that you're pretty much the best thing to happen to me, and I can't let you pass me by."

He smiles again, and when he leans in this time, he closes the distance between them. She can feel the smile on his lips, and taste the marshmallow on his tongue.

She's always wanted to be kissed in the moonlight, with the waves washing in around her feet.  
**  
You love me but you don't know who I am  
I'm torn between this life I lead and where I stand  
You love me but you don't know who I am  
So let me go  
Just let me go...  
Let me go**

Sarah brushes her teeth, listening to the water run and contemplating joining Chuck in the shower. She can easily get used to waking up next to him, sharing her day with him. She smiles to herself, but almost drops her toothbrush when she hears a strangled cry come from the shower.

She spits out the toothpaste and asks, "Chuck? What happened?" She turns around to see his form flailing wildly behind the shower curtain.

"Your shampoo is evil!"

She laughs. "Why?"

"It's in my eye!" he shouts. "It's – arg!"

She pulls the curtain aside a foot or so, and he stops thrashing. Shampoo is running down the side of his face, but he quickly washes it off when she laughs again. It looks like he's finally gotten most of the shampoo out, but his left eye is red and bloodshot. The sight, far from quelling her amusement, only exacerbates it. She can't hide her grin.

"Stop laughing," he pleads, his face completely straight. "This isn't funny. My eye hurts."

"You're right," she chokes out between breaths, trying desperately to hold back her laughter, "Not funny . . .. at all."

He stares her down for about three seconds before breaking into a grin. Grabbing her around the waist, he scoops her up and into the shower. She shrieks like a little girl when the water hits her, soaking her t-shirt, well, _his_ t-shirt, through.

"Yeah, not laughing so much now," he says playfully.

With that, she decides that Chuck Bartowski is not as innocent a guy as he always appears to be.  
**  
And no matter how hard I try  
I can't escape these things inside I know  
I know  
When all the pieces fall apart  
You will be the only one who knows  
Who knows**

A month later, Sarah enters Chuck and Ellie's apartment to find her boyfriend stretched out on the couch reading a gaming magazine. He greets her with a smile, and moves over to make room for her. She lies down next to him, and he slinks an arm around her shoulders, holding the magazine with the other hand.

"How was your day?" he asks, kissing her cheek.

"The usual."

He groans. "I'm sorry. Want something special for dinner? I make a mean grilled cheese sandwich."

She smiles, "Ooh, I think I'll pass. What are we having, though?"

He glances around the room for ideas. "Mmm . . . I don't know yet. I haven't decided. But Ellie and Awesome are out doing wedding things, so it's my turn to make dinner."

She glances at her watch – 4:13. "We've got a few hours. Let's just lie here for a while."

Catching the moodiness in her tone, he sets down the magazine and waits for her to explain the funk she's fallen into.

She kind of hates how patient he is.

For the past month, she and Chuck have been forging their relationship. It's been exciting, but at the same time, she almost feels as if she doesn't deserve the normalcy of it all. Each time she has a conversation about what to make for dinner, or what movie to rent, or what to get Morgan or Anna for their respective birthday, her mind wanders to that time she saved Carina in Pakistan, or the mission where she killed eight rogue members of the Serbian government, or when she was part of a team that took down a corrupt Brazilian regime in just three months.

She cares about what he has to say, really. She cares so much that their conversations sometimes make her feel more deceitful than being a spy does. She's slowly finding out everything there is to know about Chuck. But Chuck barely knows anything about the real Sarah Walker, the woman _and_ the agent, so inextricably linked.

He's still waiting for her to speak, his intense gaze burning into her.

She turns to him, their faces centimeters apart. "Kiss me," she whispers.

He complies, but not as eagerly as she expects. His mind's still on what she's keeping from him, exactly what she's trying to get _off_ his mind. She breaks off the kiss and settles her head against his chest, closing her eyes.

He strokes her hair gently and asks, "Is something bothering you, Sarah?"

She sighs, and responds in the negative. Even without looking at him, she can tell he doesn't quite believe her.

"Is it something with work? Because Casey was particularly unpleasant at the Buy More today."

She smiles against his chest. "No, work's fine."

"Then is it me?"

She raises her head and looks at him in alarm. "Why would you think that?"

He chuckles, "You don't exactly have a broad life here, you know. So the only two options are work and me. Sometimes both, because I kind of classify as both."

She shakes her head and leans it against his chest again. "I'd say we're doing well, wouldn't you?"

Chuck laughs and says mockingly, "Well? I'd say we're doing_very_ well!"

She groans.

"Seriously," he teases, "Do they teach you that drivel in training?"

She's caught off-guard by his reference to her agency training. It's an unspoken rule that they never talk about her past, especially her time as an agent. He seems to realize from her silence that he's hit a nerve, but before he can apologize, she raises her head again.

"I was just thinking . . ." she says, "what about lasagna for dinner?"

He narrows his brows, but nods, and gives her a small kiss on the lips. When he moves away, intending to start dinner, she puts a hand on his cheek and draws his face back towards hers. The kiss is as much to alleviate his doubt as it is to assuage her guilt.  
**  
You love me but you don't know who I am  
I'm torn between this life I lead and where I stand  
And you love me but you don't know who I am  
So let me go  
Just let me go**

Sarah can't concentrate on her book. She's been on the same sentence the whole time that Chuck's been getting ready for bed. She wants to yell at him for taking so long, but when she checks the clock, she sees that only three minutes have passed. He emerges from the bathroom a few seconds later, yawning widely. Climbing under the covers, he's about to cuddle up to her but stops when he notices her agitation.

"What is it?" he says softly, treading lightly because of her changing moods the past few days.

She sits straight up, folding her legs Indian-style. She takes one of his hands, and fiddles with his long fingers. He gazes at her intently, and the funny thing is that she's more scared now than she's ever been – even more than she was in Pakistan, Serbia or Brazil.

"What you said, this evening . . ." she begins, her breathing suddenly shallow.

He gets an embarrassed look on his face, and he says quickly, "You know what, it was spur-of-the-moment, don't even worry about it. Just forget I said it. I'd be totally okay with that."

The corner of her mouth curves upward, and there's a pause in his rambling.

"Did you mean it?" She tries to school her voice to contain as little emotion as possible, but there's no denying that this is possibly the most important question she's ever asked.

Surprise crosses his face for a moment, and he takes another moment to respond. When he does speak, his words come out slowly. "I've only ever said that," he pauses, glances at the ceiling as if it contains some secret message only he is able to decipher, "to two women, including you." He shoots her an uncomfortable smile, and she can tell that he's as nervous as she is.

The information staggers her. Chuck is always so open with his emotions that she finds it hard to believe that he, too, holds back his inner-most feelings. She knows she should reassure him that she reciprocates his love, but she can't bring herself to admit that quite yet.

"But, Chuck," she breathes, "you don't even know me."

The words hang in air, in the ever shrinking space between them.

He looks her in the eyes. "I know . . . that your favorite color is green, that you put your duty to this country above your duty to yourself, that you prefer to show your feelings rather than talk about them, that you have the most amazing smile on the planet, that you always thought your job was the only thing you were good at, so you use it to hide what you think of as your inadequacies in dealing with people, that most of the time when you're in a bad mood I can make you laugh with my Smurf impressions, that I'm pretty much the luckiest gu-"

While he's speaking, her eyes tear up. Impulsively, she leans forward to capture his lips. Taken aback, he nonetheless reciprocates lovingly, wrapping an arm around her back and pulling her on top of him. Reluctantly, she breaks the kiss, running a hand through his dark curls.

She looks into his smiling eyes, delighted that he's exceeded her expectations so greatly. She never should have doubted him. But will he still love her when she confesses to the amount of blood on her hands? When she tells him the number of people she's killed? When she tells him that she knows all their names, knows how long they were married, knows how many kids they had?

But it's either tell him, let him judge, and let him go, or continue this deception, pretending her job hasn't made her do things she regrets.

Her face falls, and he studies her, his thumb caressing her chin.

"I need to tell you some things," she says softly.

"About what?" he asks, his voice low.

"About myself. About my life. Things you deserve to know. And then you can choose for yourself whether loving me is a good thing or not."

"Sarah," he says, and his voice is quiet but strong, his gaze just as intense. "No matter what, loving you will always be the best decision I ever made."

She kisses him softly again, but pulls away quickly, before she can lose herself in him. "I need to share this. I need you to know."

He nods, but says, "I thought I wasn't allowed to know particulars."

"Not particulars, but . . . enough general information for you to form an overall picture of my life in the agency."

She doesn't start at the beginning, her narrative wanders around a bit and backtracks, and she frequently withholds details, but he doesn't seem to mind. He listens intently, asking a question every once in a while. They talk for most of the night, lying in the sheets and watching the moonlight through the window. Confessing what she's been holding inside for years exhausts her, and she drifts off to sleep in Chuck's strong arms.

When she wakes to an empty bed, her heart plummets, thinking that her past has scared him off. She sits up groggily, shielding her eyes from the sunlight that streams in through the blinds. He walks in, though, half-dressed and carrying two mugs of coffee, and she lights up.

"Morning, sunshine," he says brightly, handing her a mug and sitting down on the bed.

She takes a sip, relishing the warmth of the liquid as it slides down her throat. She reaches a hand around his waist, and he turns toward her.

"Chuck Bartowski," she says, smiling into his kiss, "I do believe I'm in love with you."

**And you love me but you don't  
You love me but you don't  
You love me but you don't know who I am  
And you love me but you don't  
You love me but you don't  
You love me but you don't know me**


	11. Everything We Can Be

Song: "Everything We Can Be," by Tony Vincent.

A/N: Because school's starting up again, this may be my last Collide update for a while. I hope to get back to it as soon as I'm able, though.**  
**

* * *

**Hey, girl, let me look at you  
All the things you said  
Are they really true  
Cause I've been trying so hard  
Wanna be what you ask of me  
To make you smile finally  
And write my name on your heart**

Chuck wakes with a start, and the first thing he notices is that his head is pounding. He groans loudly, not bothering to open his eyes. Immediately, a voice shushes him gently, and he feels a cool hand on his forehead. He rolls his head to the side, stretching his neck. The hand moves to his cheek, lingering there a little too long, soft fingertips brushing his skin tenderly.

He groans again, his throat dry, and says in a gravelly voice, "I feel like I've been smashed in the forehead with a two-by-four."

A chuckle from his left side.

The effort to speak has made his throat even scratchier.

"Here, this will help," the voice says, and he can tell now that it's Sarah. For some reason the fact that it's her calms him more than anything.

He finally opens his eyes, but only a slit, trying to keep out the light. The morning sunshine streaming in from the window highlights her form, and the effect plays games with his already-messed-up mind. After his eyes adjust, he can see that she's holding a glass of water and four aspirin. He sits up on his elbows, his head reeling, and gratefully takes her offering.

"Only four?" he asks wearily.

"For now," she answers with a small smile. "But if your head still hurts in a few hours, you can take more."

He nods. Bad idea. He downs the rest of the water and sinks back onto the bed.

"Uh-uh," she chastises, trying to make him sit up again. "Don't lie down. It's bad for headaches."

He resists, and they finally compromise by piling up a few pillows to make an elevated headrest.

He sighs. "What happened anyway?"

Her eyes narrow. "You really don't remember?"

"Can you give me a hint?" He runs a hand over his forehead, trying to rub out the massive headache.

She leans forward and puts a hand on the side of his head, threading her fingertips into his curls, "Does a head full of government secrets ring any kind of bell?"

It comes back to him in a rush. The Intersect in his brain had become obsolete, and Casey had orders to kill him. After a long struggle that he'd rather forget, Graham and Beckman ended up finding a doctor who was able to extract the secrets from his head. Which is what they had done last night. Which is why his head was pounding like a freaking Mack truck had run over it.

Yep. He'd rather just go back to sleep now.

He groans for a third time and rolls over, covering his head with a pillow.

"No, Chuck, hey." Her voice is soothing.

He loves her voice. He'd be perfectly happy if she just spoke nonsense to him for the rest of his life. But instead of simply speaking, she's also trying to extract him from his covers and get him to be cognizant in general. He tries futilely to shake her off, but she's determined.

"Come on, Chuck. I'll make you some breakfast."

He snorts into his sheets. "I didn't know you could cook."

"Well, you'll find out if you just get out of bed."

"I don't want to."

"Stop being a baby," she commands, her voice a bit harsher now. She rises from the bed, and he's sure she has her hands on her hips, but is too afraid to actually look.

He stops flailing, weighing his options, but decides that conceding is his best bet when he feels her gaze boring into the back of his head. "Fine. I'm coming," he says moodily, shoving his pillow away.

"Good," she says, her tone immediately friendly and concerned once again.

**Now I know it's not everything that we want  
But listen to me**

Chuck follows Sarah to the kitchen with a grimace, covering his eyes with his arm to protect them from the bright sunlight.

"Are Ellie and Awesome here?" she asks.

"I dunno. They might just be out. Or they might have early shifts," he replies through a yawn. "Don't you have to work, too?"

"I quit."

"Quit?"

"Yeah."

"Wait. Don't _I_ have to work?"

"I called in for you and told them you were too sick to come in today."

"Oh," he says, surprised. "Thanks." A pause. "Why can't I eat breakfast in bed?"

"Why can't you stop complaining?"

Running a hand through his hair, he contemplates her words. He can't quite tell if she's serious, but he probably is being a huge pain in the ass. No matter how gigantic his headache is, there's no excuse for treating her badly.

So when he reaches the kitchen, he pours two heaping glasses of orange juice. "Can I help you with breakfast?"

"That's all right. You just sit and rest." She shoots him an apologetic smile as he hands her the glass of juice. "What would you like, Mr. Bartowski?"

He sits down, and leans his forehead against the table. "Mmm . . . pancakes?"

She laughs. "Coming right up."

**I can be  
All the things that you need  
Give me time  
To find them—I'll find them  
It's not goodbye  
Take a breath—close your eyes  
Baby, you'll see, everything we can be**

"These are delicious," he says through a mouthful of chocolate-chip pancake. "I had no idea you could cook so well."

"Well, cooking for you hasn't exactly been my number one priority," she smirks.

"Yeah, but seriously, I've known you for over a year now. That's something simple that I should have known." Because he can't know particulars about her past, he has to settle for little things like how good of a cook she is, or what kind of books she likes to read. He looks down at his pancakes regretfully.

She puts a hand over his, and when he looks up, she has a reassuring smile on her face.

"How's your head?" she asks.

He takes a sip of orange juice. "A little better."

"Good."

Silence descends upon the kitchen as they return to their breakfast. Before long, though, Sarah takes a deep breath, as if in preparation to speak. She pauses, and a vague misgiving settles in the pit of his stomach.

"Chuck," she says, and he can tell from the way she says his name that whatever she tells him next will not be good. He concentrates on cutting his pancakes into symmetrical pieces. When she continues, her words come out slowly, unsurely. "I got a call from Graham this morning. Because your tests were successful, I'm . . . no longer needed here."

She stops, and it's a minute before he realizes that she's done. That's all? What does she expect him to say to that?

He falters. "So . . ."

"So, you'll be safe. You'll go back to living your normal life, with just a few check-ins from the NSA and CIA from time-to-time. And I think Casey might stay here to watch over you permanently."

He chokes on his juice, and throws her an accusing glance. "You want to leave me under the watch of the man who was assigned to kill me?"

"Chuck, please. Don't make this any harder than it already is." As desperate as her words are, the plea in her eyes is more powerful.

He sighs, and takes another bite of his pancakes, his brows narrowed.

She rubs her temple wearily, and he realizes that she must be just as disappointed with this development as he is.

He wants to ask when she's leaving, but all that comes out is, "When?" His voice is husky, vulnerable.

She looks him straight in the eyes, as if trying to memorize their exact shade. "Tuesday."

He almost stops breathing. "That soon?"

She nods. "It's a lot more time than they usually give."

He hears the unspoken rebuke in her words, but isn't sure whether it's directed towards him or towards herself. To get his mind off the unpleasantness, he focuses on the details. "So what's the story?" She looks at him in confusion. "Family emergency? Job offer?"

She considers. "Oh, well, the second's the more plausible, I guess. The Wienerlicious doesn't offer the best benefits."

"Job offer it is, then," he breathes out. And with those words, he feels like he's sealed their separate fates.

**Lost time chasing empty dreams  
Our memories aren't what they seem  
These scenes hurt from the start  
Wanna stop, wanna look away  
To find the words, I can only say  
When they come in the dark**

Three days. That's all the time he has left with Sarah Walker. He lies awake that night, knowing there's no way he'll be sleeping until he figures out a way to get her to stay. His head's stopped pounding, but now it's his heart that's aching. He runs over words in his mind, trying to rehearse a persuasive speech. But even in his head, the words sound strangely hollow and empty.

He's torn between being upset with himself and angry with her. He's upset because he has so little to offer her. He's not an international super spy. He can't give her a life of excitement and adventure. But on the other hand, he likes to think he's a relatively charming guy who can offer a stable home and a normal life. That part of him doesn't understand why she always wishes for normalcy and then balks when it's obtainable.

Sighing, he shoves aside his covers and heads to the kitchen for a glass of water. Or maybe some cake. He's in the mood for cake.

Coming down the hallway, he's surprised to find that someone had the same idea as he did, probably sans the cake, though. He glances at the illuminated face of the clock on the wall – 2:23. The person opens the refrigerator, and from the light, he can distinguish Ellie's face.

"Sis?" he asks quietly. "What are you doing up?"

She jumps slightly, holding a hand to her heart. "Chuck! You scared me!" She breathes deeply, then replies, "I was on call tonight, so I'm just getting back and now I'm starved."

He moves to the cupboard to get a glass.

"Why are you still awake?"

"Can't sleep," he mumbles, getting some ice cubes from the freezer. "Do we have any cake?"

"I don't think so," Ellie says from her seat at the kitchen table, where she's eating a bowl of cereal. He watches her while filling his water glass. She glances up at him.

"What happened today?"

He leans against the sink and takes a sip of his water, deciding to feign ignorance. "What do you mean?"

"You've been in an awful mood all day, and now you're looking for a piece of cake to eat at two-thirty in the morning. Sarah looked depressed this afternoon, too."

"What about brownies? Do we have any brownies?" He asks, but she gives him that concerned, older sister stare that he can't avoid. He takes a deep breath. "She got a job offer back in D.C."

"Oh, Chuck . . ."

"She took it," he nods, then takes another sip of water to avoid Ellie's sympathetic gaze.

"Did you at least talk about it?" Ellie asks softly.

He shakes his head. They hadn't actually gone over that part of the cover story, but they hadn't really talked about it. Not as much as he would have liked, at least.

"Chuck . . ." Ellie says again, and he almost can't stand her pity. "Why don't you go with her? I mean, there's not a lot tying you to L.A."

He looks at her. In any other case, that'd be a plausible suggestion, but Sarah's not any other woman. "I can't," he stammers, "The Buy More . . . Morgan . . . you! How can I leave you?"

"I'll manage. DC's not that far away. And you're my brother. I want what's best for you." She gestures for him to sit down across from her.

He shakes his head, but moves to the chair. "I can't," he repeats.

"Why not?"

He sighs, gazes at the water glass, finally admitting, "Because she didn't ask me."

Ellie puts a hand on his forearm, "Then you'll just have to convince her that she's making a mistake."

He glances up. "How am I supposed to do that?"

His sister smiles. "You'll figure it out."  
**  
Now I know it's not --everything that we want  
so listen to me**

"Explain to me again why we're here, buddy."

Chuck looks over at Morgan. "I need to find something for Sarah. She's leaving in two days and I need to convince her to stay."

Morgan glances warily at the jewelry and clothing stores of the mall. "Are you talking about like, jewelry or something? Because I just have to warn you that I'm not great at stuff like this."

Chuck smiles and pats his friend on the shoulder. "I know, Morgan. I know."

Two hours later, they've been to at least a dozen stores, and they haven't found anything that adequately combines Sarah's practicality with Chuck's originality, at least nothing spectacular enough that will persuade her not to leave.

"Oh, hey, Chuck," Morgan says as they pass a shoe store, "Can we stop here? My sneakers are falling apart."

Chuck follows Morgan into the store, and, out of habit, wanders over to the Converse All-Stars. He looks down at his feet, trying to decide if he's in need of a new pair, when a thought hits him.

It's different, and unspectacular, but it's crazy enough that it might just work.

**I can be  
All the things that you need  
Give me time  
To find them—I'll find them  
It's not goodbye  
Take a breath—close your eyes  
Baby, you'll see, everything we can be**

Chuck paces in the courtyard. He had left the package outside her door early this morning, and he hasn't been able to sit still since.

She's leaving tomorrow morning, and they've barely spoken for two days, neither knowing quite what to say.

As he turns, he sees the curtain draw back a tiny bit. Ellie's watching him, probably convinced that he's gone nuts. He wouldn't be surprised if Casey's watching him, too.

He can't concentrate on that now, though, as he hears footsteps just outside the courtyard. He freezes where he is, next to the fountain. She appears a few seconds later, walking slowly through the archway.

She's wearing a red tank top and beige Bermuda shorts. His eyes drift toward her feet, and his lips curve into a small smile at the sight. She's wearing brand new, plain black Converse All-Star low-tops. She strolls toward him deliberately, and he feels that she's going to decide his fate within the next few moments.

"Hi," she breathes, stopping only a foot from him.

He swallows. "Hey." She doesn't say anything, just smiles, and he gets even more nervous than he already is. He looks down at their matching sneakers. "I see they fit pretty well."

She nods, "Thank you. I'd ask how you knew my shoe size, but I think the answer would freak me out."

He laughs, and he thinks he's connected with her when she starts to join in. But all of a sudden, she sobs, and her laughter subsides. She runs a hand through her loose hair, a pained look in her eyes. He starts to apologize, but she sinks into him, leaning on his chest. He winds one arm around her back, holding her tightly. She wraps an arm around his waist, resting the other hand near his shoulder.

He registers that she's crying only when the tears begin to soak through his t-shirt. As he tries to comfort her, he realizes with surprise that he's never seen her cry, that she's never let him see. The thought that she's opening up to him, even if it's only because today is their last day together, gives him strength.

"Let me be what you need," he whispers, the words drifting away on the breeze. Feeling courageous, he strokes her hair, his fingers getting tangled in the long strands.

She doesn't respond, so he waits as she cries, the tears running in rivulets down her cheeks. He hates just waiting, being unable to do anything for her. She finally seems to have gotten it all out, her breath coming in violent hitches.

"I'm sorry," she chokes out, lifting her head from his chest and wiping her cheeks with her hands.

He scrounges in his pockets for a tissue, but all he finds is some loose change. At a loss for what to do, he offers her his shirt sleeve.

Her laugh is strangled, but she accepts it gratefully, and he doesn't really mind that half his t-shirt is covered in her tears.

"I, uh," she stops to sniffle, "I brought something for you."

"Sarah . . ." he begins. He doesn't want anything from her. He just wants her to stay with him, to trust him enough.

She shakes her head. "No, you gave me a gift, and now I'm giving you one." She pulls an envelope out of her pocket and holds it out to him. He doesn't take it, simply regards her sadly. She pushes it towards him again. "Take it, Chuck."

With a sigh, he takes the envelope and unfolds the flap. He breathes out uneasily, afraid of the uncertainty of it all. She taps her foot impatiently, so he pulls out the envelope's contents.

"A ticket?" he asks.

She gestures for him to look at it more closely. More precisely, it's a plane ticket, scheduled to depart for DC tomorrow morning. He glances up at her, his gaze questioning.

She smiles back at him, managing to look confident and unsure simultaneously. "I'm taking a chance," she says breathlessly, "for the first time in my life."

He still can't quite believe what she's trying to tell him, what she's sacrificing for him, and he doesn't speak, staring down at the ticket. She rocks back and forth on her feet.

"Can I . . .?" she asks hesitantly, reaching out for the ticket with trembling hands. He hands it over, and she rips it in half unceremoniously.

It's so unexpected that he breaks into a shaky laugh. The laughter seems to break the tension between them and she takes a step toward him. His indecision gone, he closes the distance and envelops her in his embrace, his lips searching out hers. Within seconds, he's in drowning in her, but he finds that it's the best feeling he's ever experienced. Euphoric, he lifts her up and spins her around. She holds onto him more tightly, laughing into the kiss.

**Is worth all the time  
And in time you will find**

Who knew what magic a pair of shoes could work?**  
**

**I can be  
All the things that you need  
Give me time  
To find them—I'll find them  
It's not goodbye  
Take a breath—close your eyes  
Baby, you'll see, everything we can be**


	12. Find Your Way Back Home

Song: "Find Your Way Back" - Dishwalla

A/N: Whew. The second half of the semester was busy, and I wanted to focus on Two Years Later, so thanks for putting up with the long wait on this story. I was excited to get back to it.

Thanks, also, to those over at the TwoP forums for helping me figure out the storyline for this one.

Apologies if the timeline is somewhat convoluted.

Oh, and I'm haphazard at responding to reviews, so a blanket thank-you to everyone who's offered song suggestions. I promise I'm looking into them.

* * *

Sarah slides into the driver's seat with a sigh. Running her fingers through her loose hair, she pushes the recent encounter with Chuck out of her mind.

As she turns the key in the ignition, music begins to blare. Quickly turning the volume down, she realizes with a grimace that the radio's still on Chuck's favorite station. It's a mixed station – one that plays pretty much anything and everything from the 50s and 60s to today. The current song fades as she pulls the car onto the street, and a new one, one she doesn't recognize, begins.

As she listens to the lyrics, she can't help but let out an unhappy chuckle at how closely they mirror her own situation.

**There used to be a time  
When you're the only one that you could see  
You built a wall to keep you free  
****You saw it all so perfectly  
You divided everything  
You had into a thousand parts with names  
It made it easier to place the blame  
But it never really was the same**

_Sarah waltzes into the Buy More, her pigtails bouncing. "Hey, Chuck!" She beams as she approaches the Nerd Herd counter. "Ready for tonight?" she asks. _

_He shifts uncomfortably in his chair, holding up a finger and pointing to the phone. Sipping her cola, she watches with barely disguised admiration as he deals with an irate customer. Finally, he sighs and hangs up, rolling his eyes. She chuckles. Leaning his cheek on his fist, he stares up at her, a pathetically irritated look on his face. _

"_Oh, come on. I'm sure it wasn't that bad," she says, trying to cheer him up._

_He snorts. "You just walked in, conveniently missing that I was on the phone with that guy for the past 40 minutes." _

_Her eyebrows rise in disbelief. _

"_Explaining the same thing," he emphasizes, his eyes wide. _

_She laughs again and brushes back an unruly curl. "Well, I think I know something that'll cheer you up."_

_He smiles, "You finally decided to watch a _Battlestar Galactica _marathon with me and Morgan?"_

"_Heh, no. I was talking about dinner tonight. With Ellie and Awesome. Remember? Family, friends, good cooking . . . " She trails off, a little concerned that he's forgotten their plans.  
_

"_Oh," he breathes. _

_It's not like him to forget something like this. She narrows her eyes, studying him. "You okay? Are you sick?" She puts a hand to his forehead to feel for a temperature. He swats it away lightly._

"_No, no, I'm fine. I just forgot that's all." He stares, chewing on his bottom lip moodily. She refrains from voicing her concerns any further and waits for him to continue. "I think I have to bail on tonight," he confesses._

"_What?" she asks skeptically. _

_He looks her straight in the eye, and she can tell that he's absolutely serious about whatever he's talking about. "There's just something I need to take care of."_

_She shakes her head, about to protest, when he cuts her off._

"_Trust me. Okay?"_

_Looking in his eyes, there's no way she can deny him anything. She nods, and backs away. As she leaves the store, she looks back at the Nerd Herd counter, where he sits dejectedly. He gives her a half-hearted wave, and his feeble smile doesn't help banish the misgivings from her mind. __**  
**_**  
But you forgot the reason why  
You had to be alone to breathe  
Something from your history  
Or have you lost your memory?  
But now it seems your baggage  
Is the only thing that you can bring  
You had a lie for everything  
And now your world is crumbling**

She pulls her Porsche out onto the highway. She needs to feel something, and the easiest option is the speed of the car. Rolling down the windows, she lets the wind whip her hair into her face. But it doesn't stop the thoughts from running through her mind.

"_Jill's back."_

_Outside of the Buy More, Sarah stops and turns back to face Casey, who's standing just inside the automatic doors. She's unsure if she's heard him correctly, but as soon as she looks at his face, she knows it's true. _

Jill.

"_You know," he says, a little unkindly, "The girl he lost his heart to. The girl Bryce stole from him. The girl –"_

"_Yes, Casey, I know," she cuts him off, her façade slipping just enough to let her anger show, though she wouldn't be able to tell you if she's angrier at Casey or at the infamous Jill._

_She's losing her grip. Casey's jibes weren't mean-hearted, but they were meant to show her the weakness that she's been ignoring even though it's been glaring her in the face for the past few months – her growing affection for a certain man with an Intersect in his brain. _

She slams her hands against the steering wheel.

She doesn't need agency training to know that building a wall around your heart was the best way to keep it safe.

**So now you find you're on your own  
You find you're on your own  
Trying to find your way back home  
Trying to find your way back  
**

As she speeds down the highway, Sarah wipes away a lone tear that's tracked a course down her cheek. She starts as the familiar tinkling sounds of Casey's ringtone spring from her purse.

She digs through her purse and locates the phone, flipping it open. "Yeah?" She asks, holding the cell up to her ear. Her voice is husky, unsure.

"It's me. I just did a background check on the Intersect's ex. Completely clean."

"Okay," she says uncertainly.

The beat of silence that follows is so complete that she thinks he's hung up.

"Take care of yourself, Walker," he says in a rare moment of concern.

She doesn't answer, but she can hear Casey's breathing over the line. Before he can get uncomfortable and hang up, she calls, "Casey!"

He doesn't say anything, but she knows he's listening.

"Thanks," she says softly.

For what, she's not quite sure. For keeping Chuck safe, for caring about her.

He grunts, and the line goes dead.

Tossing the phone onto the passenger seat, she realizes that she has no destination in mind.

**You used to talk to God  
But you gave up 'cause you couldn't see  
Couldn't get from A to B  
But were you ever really listening?  
Enough's enough you know  
But then you never really had enough  
Something more to fill you up  
Maybe just a smaller cup**

She drives with no specific direction, but somehow she ends up at the beach. Of course. She always ends up at the beach. It reminds her so much of Chuck and their first few days together.

Sighing, she strolls onto the sand, the words of the song still ringing in her head.

Before she met Chuck, she had her life all figured out. She was great at her job, one of the agency's best. She was going to spend another decade or so kicking ass and disposing of villains before starting a life, a family with her incredible boyfriend.

Her incredible boyfriend who just so happened to go rogue. Or so she thought.

It all started with that damn e-mail.

Sarah shucks her heels, rolls her pants up to just above her knees, and wades into the rolling waves. Who's she kidding? That e-mail led her to Chuck. There's no way she would go back and keep him from opening it. She'd try to change their relationship, sure, if only to rid it of the tension that's been plaguing it for the past ten months.

Sarah kicks at the waves, sending up a spray of salt water. She has no idea where home is anymore. She's spent so much time taking care of others that she's completely neglected to take care of herself.

Staring out at the brilliant blue of the ocean, she admonishes herself.

She does know where home is. She knows exactly where it is.

With Chuck.

**So now you find you're on your own  
You find you're on your own  
Trying to find your way back home  
Trying to find your way back home**

Sarah sits on the beach, letting the late afternoon sun dry her legs. Millions of tiny grains of sand stick to the bottoms of her feet and the backs of her calves, but the feeling is warm, even comforting. She lies back, throwing an arm over her eyes to shield them from the sun.

She chuckles at the incredulity of the situation. Here she is, pining over a man she hasn't let herself get close to, who is in turn possibly reuniting with his ex-girlfriend, who hooked up with his best friend, who happens to be _her_ wayward ex-boyfriend.

What a headache. What a nightmare.

When did her life become so complicated? It used to be simple. Unconventional, perhaps, but simple – go in, complete the mission, get out. She knows what's changed, but she doubts that she has the courage to alter the current course of their relationship.

They've been gliding along so smoothly – something more than friends, but not quite lovers. And it's been working. Chuck's been happy. She's been happy.

And now she's sitting alone on the beach, playing the role of cucquean – the waiting woman while he's out with her.

She removes her arm, and blinks into the sun. Since when has Sarah Walker ever been one to sit back and accept a situation?

**You used to think that you would never be alone  
But you're losing control  
You find it hard to see at all  
To find your way back  
**

Sarah knocks on the door of the Bartowski apartment, fervently hoping that he's here. Ellie opens the door.

"Hey, Sarah," Ellie says, and from her solemn tone, Sarah can tell that he's still with her.

"Hi. Can I come in?

"Oh, yeah, come right in."

Sarah stands awkwardly in the living room, wanting to speak. Ellie waits patiently. Finally, she asks, "He's . . . isn't he?" She can't say it. Not out loud.

Ellie nods. "Sit down. I'll get us some beers."

Sarah collapses onto the couch, and Ellie reappears a moment later with a bottle in each hand. She accepts the beer gratefully, relishing the feeling of the cool liquid sliding down her throat.

Ellie sighs. "I'm so sorry, Sarah." She takes a swig of beer. "I tried to talk some sense into him, but he insisted on meeting her."

For the first time since becoming a spy, Sarah's at a loss for words. She stares straight ahead, trying to keep control over her emotions. Even though she's not officially Chuck's girlfriend, she's feeling everything a girlfriend would feel right now – betrayal, anger, pain, confusion. _Everything_. She's so used to compartmentalizing her emotions that this is dangerously close to an overload for her.

"Do you have a picture of her?" She has this twisted desire to see her competition, but she never actually meant to voice that desire.

Ellie's mouth is open in shock. "Sarah, I'm not sure that's –"

"Please?" She looks at Ellie directly, a silent plea in her gaze.

The doctor hesitates, but nods, rising and walking slowly down the hallway. She returns a few minutes later with a framed photograph, the glass cracked slightly. She hands it to Sarah, who takes it gingerly.

The picture shows Chuck giving Jill a piggy-back ride. Jill leans her cheek against Chuck's head, a happy but reserved smile on her face, her fingers tangled in his curls. Chuck's laughing cheerfully, looking directly at the camera.

"She's pretty," Sarah finally manages to say, surprised by how strangled her voice sounds.

She runs her fingertips over the picture. Jill is not merely pretty. She's beautiful, with long, dark brown hair that boasts just the slightest wave; pale, flawless skin; and brilliant green eyes that shine with intensity.

Or maybe love.

The longer she stares at the picture, the more certain she is that Jill loved Chuck. And the more certain she is of that, the harder she finds it to believe that she ever made the mistake of falling for Bryce.

"What was she like?" Her voice is soft, resigned.

"Sarah . . ."

"He won't talk to me. I just . . . I'd like to know if I should give up hope."

Ellie leans forward on her chair, reaching for Sarah's hand. "No!" she says vehemently. "Never give up hope on him. He may be socially awkward, but he's not stupid enough to let go of the love of a wonderful woman who sees him for the amazing guy he is, for the guy he can be. Trust me, Sarah. Please don't give up on him."

Tears spring unbidden to Sarah's eyes. She takes a long breath, swallowing the tears, and gives Ellie a small nod.

Ellie's right. She's too deep in this to give up on it now.

**So now you find you're on your own  
You find you're on your own  
Trying to find your way back home  
Trying to find your way back home  
**

Ellie takes care of her, wrapping her in a blanket and making her hot chocolate to try and beat the overwhelming cold that's settled in her body.

She also pops in a movie, _27 Dresses_, and settles on the couch next to her despondent charge. Sarah's never heard of it, but Ellie promises that it'll lift her spirits. The older woman tucks a protective arm around her, and she leans her head against her shoulder.

A sad smile appears on Sarah's face. If waiting for Chuck didn't make her feel so awful, she'd be grateful for Ellie's elder-sisterly actions.

An hour into the movie, Sarah still feels horrible. But her mood worsens when the door opens and Chuck waltzes in, seemingly oblivious.

Sarah raises her head; Chuck stops in his tracks.

"Uh, hi," he stammers. "I wasn't expecting you, Sarah."

Ellie sits on the edge of her seat, waiting for some confirmation of the outcome of his meeting with the infamous ex. But he doesn't offer one, just stands there uneasily, shuffling his feet.

"Can we talk?" Sarah eventually asks, her voice wavering.

Chuck nods, and walks down the hallway without a backward glance.

She sighs and stands up, letting the blanket fall from her shoulders.

Ellie grabs her hand, squeezing it gently. "Hey," she says softly. "You guys will be fine."

Sarah nods, and heads to Chuck's bedroom.

**There used to be a time when you divided  
Everything you had  
You had a lie for everything  
But were you ever really listening?  
You used to talk to God, but you gave up  
Then you really never had enough  
Or have you lost your memory?**

Chuck's already sitting in his computer chair when she enters.

He sighs, waiting for her to start the conversation, but she is _not_ going to be the one to broach this topic. So she sits down on the edge of the bed.

He takes a deep breath and runs a hand over his forehead. "I met with Jill today."

That's all the opening she needs.

"I don't," she begins, the words escaping without her permission, "I don't want you to get back together with her." Even as she says it, she knows the desire is selfish.

He stares, and she almost wants to hit him for taking so long to respond.

"Okay," he replies calmly.

"What?"

"Sarah, do you really think I'd get back together with her?" Chuck takes her hands in his. "After what she did? After all these years? She just wanted to talk, to explain some things, to catch up."

"That's all?"

"That's all."

Extracting her hands from his, Sarah punches him in the shoulder.

"Ow! What was that for?"

"That was for making me worry about you all day!" She gets up and turns her back on him, walking toward the door. Under her breath, she mutters, "Jerk."

"Hey!" he says quietly, grabbing her gently by the arm.

Reluctantly she turns to face him, only to find an apologetic expression on his face.

He speaks again, his voice softer this time. "I am sorry, Sarah. I just needed some space."

She nods, and she can't stop a slight smile from appearing on her face.

"Wanna watch a movie or something?" he asks, waggling his eyebrows.

She laughs, catching his drift.

"_Firefly_!" they shout together.

Chuck grabs the DVD set from off a shelf. "You just like Mal," he teases, popping Disc 1 into the player.

Chuckling, she settles down onto the bed, amazed that their relationship can go from tense to relaxed in a matter of moments. "Maybe," she says playfully. He joins her, stretching out his lanky form. "But then again," she continues, "I happen to think Simon Tam's pretty sexy in his own right."

He looks over at her, a grin lighting up his face. He opens his arms, creating a nook for her body. She takes the opening and snuggles into him, reveling in the warmth of his body and of their friendship.

Two minutes into the first episode, he asks, "Do you want something to drink? Or to eat?"

"Uh-uh," she answers, "I'm comfy."

But what she means is, "_I'm home_."

**Now you find you're on your own  
To find your way back home**


	13. Stupid Boy

Song: "Stupid Boy" - Keith Urban

* * *

**Well, she was precious like a flower  
She grew wild, wild but innocent  
A perfect prayer in a desperate hour  
She was everything beautiful and different**

He recalls what Casey said about Ilsa one time: _She was the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen._ That's the way he feels about Sarah. She's gorgeous, but she's also caring, and intelligent, and everything he's not looking for but somehow needs.

But there's a reason Casey and Ilsa aren't together. And less than a year into his relationship with Sarah, he's beginning to understand how hard it is for spies to have personal lives.

He stands in the kitchen, clad in cotton pj bottoms and a black undershirt, making her breakfast. Sighing, he cracks a few eggs and mixes the yolks up vigorously. She likes French toast, and since he's been getting an indistinct feeling that she's unhappy recently, he wants to do something for her.

Before he has a chance to even start cooking, though, Sarah stumbles into the kitchen wearing just underwear and one of his button-down shirts, her eyes still heavy from sleep.

"'Morning," she mumbles, rubbing her eyes. "What time's'it?"

"Almost ten," he says, tossing a few egg-slathered slices of bread onto a hot pan.

"God," she says, almost to herself, "Why have I been sleeping so late?"

He figures it's a rhetorical question, so he keeps quiet, focusing on browning the French toast to perfection. But the throwaway nature of her words galls him. She _has_ been sleeping late, and she's been lethargic in general. Only eight months into their official relationship, and he's beginning to think that she's getting bored with their life together.

Chuck had been ecstatic when Sarah finally revealed her feelings. They had been forced to keep their relationship secret, but almost three months ago, Professor Flemming and a few of his colleagues in the CIA came up with an idea to get the secrets out of his brain.

It was basically a reverse-Intersect. They plied him with images exactly like the ones in the first batch, except these images were encoded with neutral messages, essentially wiping the secrets that were in his brain.

Just over six weeks ago, he'd gotten the all clear. His brain was finally secret-free. The only problem is now the government doesn't know what to do with him. So Sarah is on a temporary assignment, merely watching over him until they figure out how to proceed.

He flips the toast over, jabbing at it, irritated. Sarah pads over to him, wraps her arms around his waist, and leans into him. He pauses, closing his eyes. She feels so comfortable that he can't help the smile that rises to his lips. But a pang of sadness hits his heart as he registers that her touch is slightly less assured than usual, and perhaps even less affectionate.

She kisses his cheek lingeringly. "How'd you sleep?" she whispers in his ear, her lips nuzzling the sensitive skin of his earlobe.

A shiver runs down his spine at the intimate contact, and he takes a deep breath, trying to calm himself. He should be used to it by now, but she never fails to affect him.

"Fine," he says, his voice as unanimated as he can make it.

Sarah takes a deep breath and pulls away from him, releasing her hold around his waist. He sighs in relief, but tenses again when she grasps him by the arm instead and spins him around slowly. He turns to find her gazing at him with a concerned look.

"Hey," she says with a half-smile. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," he protests, but his denial is unconvincing. "I wish I didn't have to go to work today, that's all."

This answer doesn't seem to satisfy her fully, but she nods. "I'll get the orange juice," she says, simultaneously giving him a peace offering and a way out.

As he watches her stride across the kitchen, there's no doubt in his mind that he loves her. But there are too many doubts about her love for him.

**Stupid boy, you can't fence that in  
Stupid boy, it's like holding back the wind  
She laid her heart and soul right in your hands  
And you stole her every dream and you crushed her plans  
She never even knew she had a choice and that's what happens  
When the only voice she hears is telling her she can't  
Stupid boy, stupid boy  
**

Chuck's shift at Buy More had been mind-numbingly dull, but at least it had gotten him away from his problems with Sarah. He loosens his Nerd Herd tie as walks through the front door, hoping his lethal girlfriend has found a distraction with Ellie that involves being out of the apartment.

Except she hasn't. She's sitting in an armchair with her legs draped over one side, and she glances up from her book as he walks in.

"Hey, sweetie," she says with a charming smile.

He returns her greeting with a lackluster one of his own, and heads into the kitchen. She grabs him by the tie as he's ambling past her chair, tugging him down for a kiss.

"What? I don't even get a proper hello?"

He can't help but laugh at her sauciness. "I'm sorry. Hello, Sarah."

Her kiss is soft, persistent, but he can't help feel the difference in it, even from just a few weeks ago. He pulls away slowly, and he knows she can read the pain in his eyes.

"Chuck," she begins softly, "You can tell me what's wrong."

He swallows, unwilling to broach the topic.

"Please," she says, reaching out to brush a curl behind his ear.

He walks around to the other side of the chair and kneels down in front of it.

"We have to talk," he says quietly.

With shaking hands, she closes her book and, sitting up to face him, sets it on the floor.

"Okay," she says, the word drawn out warily.

He takes her hands in his, letting his thumbs run in light circles over the backs of her hands. "Sarah, I," he begins, unsure of where to take this.

_I think we should break up_? That didn't go over so well last time. Despite the fact that he has mentally practiced having this conversation all day, he's emotionally unprepared to face this amazing woman in person. Because he truly loves her, and is reluctant to let go of the only thing that's made sense in his life. But then he compares her life with him now to what it could be, what it ought to be if she were still fully active with the CIA.

He sighs. She shouldn't be wasting her time here with him. She should be using her skills as an undercover agent.

"I don't think this is working," he finally chokes out.

She cocks her head, letting out a small, incredulous laugh. "What? What are you saying, Chuck?"

He squeezes his eyes to think. When he opens them again, the amount of sorrow in her gaze is almost overwhelming. "I'm saying," he falters, "I'm saying that you deserve better than this life with me." His words come out slowly, unsurely. "I think you should ask for a reassignment."

He lets out his breath quickly, and rises from his kneeling position. Extracting his hands from hers, he runs from her penetrating gaze. He walks slowly into the kitchen, and, to his surprise, she tenders no argument.

**So what made you think you could take a life  
And just push it, push it around  
I guess you build yourself up so high  
You had to take her and break her down**

Waking up, the first thing he notices is an arm wrapped comfortably around his waist. Given that he's been sleeping alone since Sarah left eleven months ago, he shoots up in bed, alarmed. Catching sight of blonde hair, he calms almost immediately. He rubs his eyes and peers at his bedfellow blearily. Her face is buried in the pillow, but he's fairly certain it's Sarah.

Disturbed by his rowdy awakening, she mumbles groggily, "'S too early. Go back to sleep."

"Sarah?" he asks incredulously. Because even though it must be her, he's at a loss to figure out how she's appeared in his bed.

She groans in affirmation.

"Geeze, Sarah! When did you get here?"

"Four. Now go back to sleep. I'm tired."

He lets out a small chuckle, hardly daring to believe that she's here again. After watching her leave for her last mission nine weeks ago and barely hearing a word since, he was starting to think she'd never come back.

"You're insane, you know that?" he says admiringly. He decides to wait until she's fully awake to ask her why she decided to show up in the middle of the night, so he settles back under the covers, wrapping his arms around her and pressing a kiss to her forehead. She shifts against him, lining up every inch of her body with his.

Without opening her eyes, she smiles, murmuring in response, "Mmmm . . ."

Before he falls back asleep, he swears he hears her whisper the words he's said so often, the words that have never fallen from her lips.

**She laid her heart and soul right in your hands  
And you stole her every dream and you crushed her plans  
She never even knew she had a choice and that's what happens  
When the only voice she hears is telling her she can't  
You stupid boy**

Even after waking up with her this morning, Chuck still has a hard time believing she's in his arms, kissing him like there's no tomorrow.

He pulls away gently, smiling warmly. "Hey, hey," he jokes, "I need to breathe."

Sarah laughs, a gloriously light laugh that brightens her face. Settling into a more comfortable position on the park bench, she nonetheless keeps her arms wrapped around his neck. She runs one thumb slowly across the skin on the side of his neck near his jaw, tantalizing him. He closes his eyes, letting the contact play havoc on his emotions – it makes him want her even more, but it also reminds him of what he's missing.

"Chuck," she sighs.

"Hmmm?" he asks, not bothering to open his eyes.

"Your eyes are sadder every time I come back," she says simply.

He opens his eyes and looks at her, surprised to find that there's no accusation in her gaze. His voice is strained when he responds, "You stay away longer each time."

She lets out a breath slowly and leans her forehead against his cheek. "I know, and I'm sorry."

He's sure she'll bring up the fact that this arrangement was his idea, but she's silent. They sit like that for a few minutes, wrapped in each other, unsure of how to continue.

Finally, he voices the concern that's been weighing on him for the past few months. "Maybe this isn't the best thing for us either." Far from making his conscience lighter, it merely makes the burden heavier, and he can feel the cracks forming in his heart from the overwhelming weight.

"No, Chuck, please don't say that." Her voice is pleading. He never thought he'd hear Sarah Walker plead. Least of all for him.

"It's just . . . so hard. I feel like I'm living half a life until you come back, and you only come back for a few days at a time, every month or two."

"I know it's not as simple or as clear-cut as we'd like it to be, but when has our relationship ever been simple?"

God, now her hand has dropped to his chest, and her fingers are dancing lightly over his pectoral muscles. She knows exactly how to drive him crazy. He groans. "Sarah, I just don't know if I can take it any more. I can't stand to not sleep next to you every night. We've been at this for almost a year, and we've spent what? Less than three weeks together? It's not right. It's not healthy." He sighs, exhausted from making his excuses to her.

She nibbles at her bottom lip, her eyes searching his. "We can do this. We'll figure out something."

He shakes his head. "I'm not like you. I'm not strong enough," he confesses softly.

The misery in her gaze threatens to overwhelm him.

But instead of protesting any further, she moves away from him and rises from the bench. With her back to him, she says resignedly, "If that's what you want, Chuck . . ."

And she walks away.

Sarah Walker walks away.

What surprises him more is that he lets her go.

**Oh, you always had to be right but now you've lost  
The only thing that ever made you feel alive  
Yeah, yeah**

Chuck sits uncomfortably in a terminal chair. More uncomfortable than the chair is Sarah's demeanor. She's barely said a word to him since the park yesterday. Now she's sitting icily beside him, glancing around the airport with a defeated look in her eye.

"Please, Sarah," he says quietly, "Don't leave angry with me."

"But I am angry with you, Chuck," she says, her voice low and tired, mismatched with the irritation in her words. "I'm pissed at you for not giving us a chance."

He shakes his head. "Sarah, I'm only trying to do what's best for you."

The call to begin boarding sounds, and Sarah rises. "You don't get to decide that," she whispers.

She starts to walk off, carrying her one bag over her shoulder, and she doesn't look back. This is not how he imagined this going at all.

"Wait!" he calls out desperately.

She stops, but doesn't turn. He strides to catch up to her.

"I don't even get a friendly good-bye?" he asks, trying to lighten the situation, but now that he's close, he can see the tears in her eyes.

She lets go, surrenders, right in the middle of the airport. She drops her bag, leans into him, and wraps her arms tightly around his waist, choking back a sob. He holds her protectively, stroking her hair. His lungs feel tight in his chest, and a lump forms in his throat. He fights back the tears, but as he's holding this woman, this strong, independent, brave woman who has given in to her emotions, he cannot help his own. Once he gives in, the tears fall fast and heavy. He struggles to control his breathing as a rush of release washes over him.

"Last call to board Flight 929."

Sarah gives one last mighty sob and loosens her grip on Chuck. As she breaks away, she punches him in the shoulder. Hard.

"Ow," he exclaims in surprise, clutching the injured limb in pain.

She ignores him, drying her tears with her sleeve and reaching down to grab her bag. She turns to go, but not before looking back at him one last time. In her eyes, he reads a thousand emotions. In her eyes, he sees a reflection of his own heartache.

She offers no final goodbye, and he doesn't say anything either. Because words could never encompass the depth of his confusion right now, or the extent of his love for her. Words could never be enough.

He watches her retreating form with anguished eyes. The only things he has left of her now are her tears on his shirt, a few photos, and countless memories.

**Well, she laid her heart and soul right in your hands  
And you stole her every dream and you crushed her plans  
Yes, you did  
She never even knew she had a choice and that's what happens  
When the only voice she hears is telling her she can't  
You stupid boy, oh, I'm the same old  
Same old stupid boy**

Chuck lies on the bed in his old room, one hand behind his head, staring at the ceiling. He's since moved out of Ellie and Awesome's place, but they haven't found a new use for his room yet. He's actually supposed to be over for dinner, but he escaped for a few minutes of peace and quiet.

Except he can still hear Ellie's worried stream of chatter as she tells Awesome that Chuck hasn't had a date since Sarah left over seven months ago.

Chuck sighs. It's true. He hasn't had a date. But neither has he had the inclination.

He can hear Ellie say that it's the situation with Jill all over again. But it's not. He had eventually gotten over Jill, though it took a bit longer than originally planned. But things had been so much different with Sarah, and he knows he'll never get over her. Even if he finds someone else who can love him, his heart will never be able to fully return her affections, because there will always be a part of it, a large part of it, that belongs to Sarah Walker.

He closes his eyes, resisting the urge to turn on loud music and throw something. It's none of Ellie's damn business. She knows nothing about his relationship with Sarah. It's not her fault that she knows nothing about it, but still, he resents her insistence that he needs a date in order to move on with his life.

At least he's gotten a place of his own and a new job, even if it is merely an entry-level position at a video game developing company. He likes to think that she'd be proud of him for trying to move on, but that train of thought always ends up makes him miss her more.

What hurts the most, though, is the fact that she left him no contact information. A complete break, she called it. It's unfair, really, that she knows where he lives and how he can be reached, but that he has absolutely no way to get in touch with her. And he can't pretend that it doesn't sting when she's the one with the power, when she's the one who's able to contact him, and yet she lets day after day, and month after month slip by without a word.

He sighs. He's probably been hiding for longer than is acceptable, so he climbs off the bed and prepares to face the onslaught of concerned questions from his sister. He rubs his eyes. Hell, maybe he'll accept her next offer to set him up on a blind date.

It's been seven months after all.

She's not coming back.

**It took awhile for her to figure out she could run  
But when she did, she was long gone  
Long gone, long gone  
Ah, she's gone**

Chuck sits across from Casey at a table outside the coffee shop. It's his normal bimonthly check in, where he updates Chuck on any government stuff he needs to know, and lets him know about security issues.

It's been over a year since he's seen her, and they always skirt around the issue during these meetings.

Casey's gathering his things to leave when Chuck stops him. "Have you seen her?"

Casey sighs, setting his stuff back down on the table. "We're in different agencies. We don't have much contact."

Chuck shakes his head. "That's bull and you know it, Casey."

The NSA agent stares at him, finally admitting, "Yeah, I've seen her."

Chuck waits for more, but it doesn't come. "And?" he asks huskily.

"Do you want me to tell you that she's torn up over you? Is that what you want, Bartowski?" Casey's tone is protective, and Chuck realizes that he cares about Sarah more than he lets on sometimes.

"I just . . . I'd like to know that she doesn't hate me."

Casey's visage softens. "No, she doesn't hate you."

"How is she?" His voice shakes as he asks the question.

"You thought she was a good agent when you knew her? She's even better now, because she works her ass off to be the best damn agent in the CIA. Everyone's terrified of her."

"If you're trying to make me feel horrible, you can stop. I already feel like the world's biggest jerk." He pauses, checking his tone, because Casey's not the one he's angry at. "I was just trying to do the right thing, Casey."

"You keep telling yourself that, Bartowski."

Suitably chastised, Chuck lets his head hang the slightest bit. He stands abruptly. "Will you, will you just tell her . . . next time you see her . . . that I," he pauses, finding it hard to put voice to the words. Casey stands, slowly gathering his things. Chuck swallows and continues, "Tell her that I . . ."

Mercifully, Casey says quietly, "I'll tell her, Chuck."

Chuck holds out his hand. "Thank you, Casey."

The NSA agent shakes his hand, nods, and walks off down the street. Chuck watches him go, an anguished expression etched on his face.

**Nobody's ever gonna love me like she loved me  
And she loved me, she loved me  
God please, just let her know  
I'm sorry, I'm sorry  
I'm sorry, I'm sorry  
Baby, yeah, I'm down on my knees  
She's never coming back to me**

A few more months pass, and the anniversary of the day they met finds Chuck wandering aimlessly along the sandy shore. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees a flash of blonde hair a ways down the beach. He turns his head, his breath catching in his throat, and he fervently hopes he isn't deceiving himself.


	14. Chasing Cars

Song: "Chasing Cars," by Snow Patrol

* * *

**We'll do it all  
Everything  
On our own  
We don't need  
Anything  
Or anyone  
**

Sarah lies awake, one arm behind her head. She stares at the ceiling, but the moonlight filtering through the window distracts her. Not for the first time, she finds that she can't sleep, thoughts of a certain computer nerd filling her head.

She sighs into the still night, wondering if it'd be possible, what it'd be like, to run off with him, just the two of them. She entertains the thought for a few minutes, allowing her mind to drift.

This is the only safe time of the day, the only time when she can truly let go of her cares. There are no bugs, no cameras, no spies. She can be herself, and dwell on things, people, she wouldn't normally dwell on. And so, every night, she finds herself lying awake, thinking about him. Except each morning she feels even worse, the night's musings having only reassured her that she can never begin an actual relationship with Chuck.

She flips over in frustration, burying her face in her pillow. It's been ten months since they've been working together, and ten weeks since she's had a decent night's sleep. This will never do. Something's got to change.

**If I lay here  
If I just lay here  
Would you lie with me and just forget the world?**

Sarah feels trapped. A life in the agency was supposed to do just the opposite – provide her with almost unlimited freedom. Instead, this assignment with Chuck has plopped her down in the middle of a dilemma to which she can see no easy or desirable solution.

Letting out a growl of aggravation, she punches the pillow. If only things could be as simple as they were when they were first starting out. They were friends then, not this weird thing between friends and lovers.

She throws the covers off and stands, her toes crushing into the plush carpet. She runs her fingers slowly through her hair and saunters over to the window. The moonlight is refreshing, calming, and she stretches her arms above her head, her tank top rising up above the waist of her shorts.

She lets her arms fall heavily to her sides. Staring out the window, she has a sudden urge to be with him. But it's close to one in the morning. Even if he's awake, how would he react to her showing up unexpected and unannounced in the middle of the night?

**I don't quite know  
How to say  
How I feel  
Those three words  
Are said too much  
They're not enough**

Sarah tosses on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt, and twenty minutes later, she's standing outside Chuck's window, shivering slightly in the chilly night air. She crosses her arms over her chest. The blinds are down, preventing her from seeing inside the room. But the lights are off, and she's certain he's sleeping.

Taking a deep breath, she raises a hand to the window pane. After a moment's hesitation, she raps on it lightly, trying not to wake the neighbors. She waits, straining her ears in an attempt to hear movement from inside. It's silent. She knocks again, a little louder this time. She waits quietly, shuffling her weight from one foot to the other. The sound of rustling bed sheets can be heard, and the blinds shoot up abruptly.

Sarah looks up, her breath catching in her throat at the sight of his disheveled form. Chuck looks shocked, but he recovers quickly, taking a breath, and offers her a pleasant smile. She returns it, amused at his rumpled boxers and the Darth Vader t-shirt that's twisted around his torso. Without a word, he opens the window, reaching out a hand to help her clamber through the frame. Squeezing his hand, she climbs through the window and into the darkened room.

He asks for no explanation, and she offers none. Instead, he merely keeps her hand in his and leads her over to the bed. She kicks off her shoes and slides under the covers, the smile on her face growing as he follows her. She settles on her side, facing away from him. He snuggles up against her, and she drinks in the feeling of his warm, comfortable body pressed against hers. But she soon changes her mind, turning on her other side so they're facing one another.

Pulling his head back to get a good look at her, he smiles. "Do you want some more comfortable pajamas?" he drawls, his voice thick with sleep.

She shakes her head. "No," she whispers, closing her eyes and burying her forehead in his chest.

His arms wrap around her, and she shifts into a more comfortable position. She takes a deep breath, breathing in his unique scent. He smells good. Like his sheets. Or maybe his sheets smell like him. A shy smile springs to her face. She could definitely get used to sleeping in his arms.

**If I lay here  
If I just lay here  
Would you lie with me and just forget the world?  
Forget what we're told  
Before we get too old  
Show me a garden that's bursting into life**

Sarah loves being in Chuck's embrace. It's protective without being patronizing. He is exactly what one part of her needs and what the other part of her can't have. She lies there, losing track of the time, her eyes growing heavier with each passing breath. She's close to drifting off when he speaks, whispering quietly so as to not break the delicate atmosphere.

"Is everything all right?"

She sighs, debating over how much to tell him, and finally answers, "Why would it not be?"

He glances over her shoulder at the clock on the bedside table then back at her. "It's almost two in the morning and you kind of just appeared at my window. That's not exactly an every day, or every night, occurrence."

She chuckles, reaching a hand up to brush her fingers tenderly over his cheek. "I just couldn't sleep, that's all."

"And somehow I can cure your insomnia?" he laughs.

She makes a sound of acquiescence, but, realizing what she's actually agreeing to, stops herself halfway through. She looks up at him, her eyes wide, and meets his somewhat surprised expression.

"I," he begins, his voice much more serious, "I didn't know I had that effect on you."

Still locking eyes with him, she takes a deep, shaky breath. "It's been so long since anyone's held me, and I wanted it to be you."

He swallows, nodding. "I like just holding you. It feels . . ."

"Like everything falls into place, doesn't it?" she finishes for him.

"Yeah, like we can forget everything besides ourselves." The smile on his face doesn't quite hide the sadness in his eyes.

She wants to tell him so much right now, but she feels like speaking any further would ruin the moment. Instead, she snakes her arm around his neck and, letting out a fragile breath, settles her head in the crook of his shoulder. He kisses her hair, murmuring goodnight.

Lying in the arms of the man she loves, Sarah Walker falls asleep.

**Let's waste time  
Chasing cars  
Around our heads  
I need your grace  
To remind me  
To find my own**

For the first time in over a year, Sarah wakes in another's arms. And she likes it. She breathes in deeply, wanting to memorize everything about mornings in Chuck's bedroom. She opens her eyes to find Chuck already awake, blinking groggily at her, and a contented smile springs to her face.

"'Morning," he says softly, sleepily, _happily_.

"Good morning, Chuck," she responds almost shyly.

Of all the things they've experienced together, Sarah enjoys the simple things the most. Like having dinner with him, or waking up wrapped in him. During her years in the agency, she's forgotten what normalcy is. Somehow, without even meaning to succumb to his influence, she's slipped into this life with him, this life that feels so wonderful, and so normal.

It almost makes her forget that she and Chuck are not a real couple, and that they have people to save and asses to kick every week.

Almost.

He slips out of bed, and for a moment, she feels entirely cold and empty. Reaching out a hand for him, she groans in protest.

He laughs lightly. "I'm going to shower. I'll be fifteen minutes, I swear."

"Fine," she mutters into the pillow.

He laughs again, and she can't stop her lips from curving into a smile. She hears the bathroom door shut, and, a minute later, the shower turn on. By now, she's fully awake, and can't drift off to sleep again. She sits up and stretches, yawning. The sunlight streaming in through the window feels amazingly warm on her face. She glances around the room for something to do, but when her stomach rumbles fiercely, her mind's made up.

Ellie and Devon are already in the kitchen making breakfast. Ellie greets her cheerily and Devon smiles widely, no doubt intending to congratulate Chuck later on. Sarah knows she should work out something with him about their cover, but right now, the glorious smell of freshly-made pancakes is overwhelming.

"Mmm . . . those smell heavenly, Ellie," Sarah says with a smile.

"Babe!" exclaims Awesome. "I can't believe we've known her for almost a year and she hasn't had your famous pancakes yet!"

Ellie laughs, ushering Sarah to a seat. "Well, sit down, then. You're in for a treat."

Two minutes later, there's a plate piled high with thick, golden-brown pancakes in front of her. Ellie watches eagerly. Sarah takes a bite, and her taste buds start to freak out.

"Oh, my god, Ellie," she says, her eyes wide. "These are delicious."

"Secret recipe from her grandma," Awesome elucidates.

Sarah smiles happily and takes another bite, trying to restrain herself from devouring the whole plate in a matter of minutes.

"So," Awesome begins, and Sarah can tell that this is going to be one of _those_ conversations. "I didn't know you spent the night."

"Devon," Ellie chastises, whispering surreptitiously to her clueless fiancé. "It's really none of our business."

Sarah swallows, managing not to laugh. "It's all right, Ellie. Last night was . . . unexpected." She glances down at her jeans and wrinkled t-shirt to get her point across.

"Oh!" Ellie says, "You know, if you need clothes to wear, I'd be happy to lend you some. You're a bit taller than I am, but I think we can find you something."

Sarah, touched by the offer, nods. "Yeah, maybe. I'm not sure what we have planned for today."

Just then, Chuck stumbles into the kitchen, his curls still wet from the shower.

"Super timing, bro," Awesome says, reaching out his fist.

Chuck, puzzled, taps his fist against Awesome's and disappears behind the refrigerator door.

"'Morning, Chuck," Ellie says pointedly.

"Hey, sis," he responds, reemerging with the orange juice. "Did I hear something about plans for the day?" He grabs two glasses and sits down next to Sarah, pouring her a juice and handing the glass to her.

"Mm-hmm. Devon and I are both off for the day. We were thinking about going on a bike ride and having a picnic." She leans against the counter and folds her arms, looking with a sly expression at Chuck and Sarah. "You two care to join us?"

Chuck looks at the blonde sitting next to him, his eyebrows raised.

She smiles, shrugs her shoulders. "I'm off today . . ."

He grins, turning back to his sister. "Sure. Why not?"

"I should probably go shower first, though," Sarah admits.

"Oh, why don't I grab you some clothes, then, and Chuck can take them in to you?" Ellie suggests.

Chuck shoots Sarah a mortified look, no doubt at the thought of entering the bathroom while she's in the shower. She grins back at him, and takes his hand.

"That works," she says, and he relaxes noticeably.

"Chuck, buddy," Awesome intones, grabbing Chuck's attention. "Pancakes?"

Chuck laughs. "You know it."

**If I lay here  
If I just lay here  
Would you lie with me and just forget the world?  
Forget what we're told  
Before we get too old  
Show me a garden that's bursting into life**

Sarah walks down the hallway to Chuck's bedroom, ecstatic at the thought of spending the whole day with him. She wonders idly if he's a good bike rider.

Opening the door to the bedroom, she freezes at the sight of Casey sitting on the window frame, his arms folded across his chest and a scowl on his face.

"Casey," she nods, stepping into the room and closing the door quietly behind her.

"Walker," he grunts. "Imagine my surprise when I woke up to find two voices coming through the bugs when I'm pretty sure the Intersect was alone, and asleep, when I retired for the night."

Sarah's silent. She's known all along that Casey has been none too pleased about her relationship with Chuck. The lines are always blurry for spies, and the lines separating her from Chuck are ever blurrier. In her eyes, she's managed to not cross those wobbly, indistinct boundaries. But only barely.

"So what's the occasion?" he continues.

"Excuse me?" She looks up, startled at the question.

"Your birthday? A sibling's? Your parents' anniversary?"

Sarah pauses. Of course. Every agent has a day like that. Most have more than one. Thinking back to when the insomnia started, she admits, "The day I joined the agency."

Casey nods, but surprisingly doesn't offer a warning about getting too close to "the asset." He stands and pulls a small disc out of his back pocket.

"Here," he says, holding it out to her.

She hesitates.

"It's the recording from last night to this morning." He holds it closer to her.

"Why?" she asks, still not taking the disc.

He sighs, reluctantly answering, "Because I've gotten used to you and the kid. I don't want them to use this to find you a new assignment and me a new partner." She reaches out a hand, her shaking fingers hovering over the recording. "Think of it as a selfish act," he continues. "And take it."

Her fingers close over the disc. She buries it in the back pocket of her jeans and says softly, "Thank you, Casey."

Casey grunts and turns to hop out of the window, but pauses, his arm braced against the frame. "You should tell him. He deserves to know something real."

**All that I am  
All that I ever was  
Is here in your perfect eyes, they're all I can see  
I don't know where  
Confused about how as well  
Just know that these things will never change for us at all**

Sitting on the picnic blanket, Sarah watches Ellie and Awesome stroll away hand-in-hand for a private walk. Watching this display of trusting, untainted love emboldens her, and she turns to Chuck.

"Chuck," she says, her voice quiet but forceful.

He looks at her calmly; she falters.

How to tell a man you love him? It's so easy when it's a lie. But when you've never been in love and suddenly you're overwhelmed with the strength of your emotions and there's this man who worships the very core of you and you can't see a future that doesn't involve broken hearts?

No. Telling Chuck she loves him will be the hardest thing she ever does.

"I," she stammers, her heart suddenly pounding out of control. He waits patiently, looking her straight in the eye. "Can I, uh, can I stay with you again tonight?" she finally manages to say, her voice strangled. Disappointed in her lack of courage, her face falls.

He chuckles lightly. "That all? Of course."

There's a pause during which she's acutely and nervously aware that he's studying her closely.

"Every night, if you want," he adds softly.

She looks up at him, shocked.

His eyes.

His eyes hold so much love.

The depth of affection in his gaze and the thinly veiled offer beneath his words terrify her more than any death-defying mission ever could.

Seeming to realize the predicament he's put her in, he offers her a sorrowful smile and lies back on the blanket. He stretches a hand beneath his head and closes his eyes against the afternoon sun. She tilts her head, finding comfort in his serene expression.

Gazing at him, Sarah acknowledges sadly that she has fallen deeply and irrevocably in love with Chuck Bartowski.

As she can currently see no end to her dilemma, she follows his lead and moves to lie down. She twists on the blanket, and settles her head on top of Chuck's abdomen. Unlike him, however, she stares straight at the sun, hoping futilely that its bright rays will wipe away the intense pain in her heart.

He shifts to get more comfortable and reaches out a hand to grasp hers. She takes it willingly, threading her fingers through his. Bringing their entwined hands up to her face, she kisses his hand. In response, he brushes his thumb over the back of hers.

She sighs, feeling a miniscule amount of her sadness lift away. There's no end in sight, but for right now, she'll use their precious time together to lie with him and forget the world.

**If I lay here  
If I just lay here  
Would you lie with me and just forget the world?**


	15. A Little More You

Song: "A Little More You," by Little Big Town

A/N: If you don't like this chapter, blame **Go Chuck Go**, who actually wrote it while I was off in a coma. :P Make of that what you will.

* * *

**Don't you wanna dive on in?  
Yeah, the water feels right****  
Dancin' on the edge of love  
You're a beautiful sight  
So why you still standin' there in the half moonlight?****  
Come on, baby, give me a little more you  
Come on, baby, give me a little more you**

Chuck shifts uncomfortably in his chair, idly wishing he had brought a book with him. He glances at his watch for the third time in a minute. When Sarah asked him to accompany her to buy a dress for Ellie's bridal shower, he had readily agreed, wanting to spend more time with her. But even though Sarah is practical and resourceful on missions, she's still a girl. And living with Ellie has taught him that girls like to try on clothes.

So he's been sitting here for over a half-hour, waiting for her to emerge from the dressing room every couple minutes and model her dress.

Okay, he'll admit that seeing her twirl around in attractive dresses is worth it. But the waiting is mind-numbingly tedious. Bored, he leans forward on his chair, rests his head on his folded hands, and puffs out his cheek, releasing his breath.

A couple in their early 30s, the woman's arms laden with clothes, approaches the fitting rooms.

"I'll be right over here," the man says, gesturing to the seat near Chuck.

The woman nods and enters the room next to Sarah's. Her boyfriend sits down beside Chuck, acknowledging him by inclining his head.

"Hey," Chuck says.

The man sticks out his hand. "I'm Scott. Guess we're in the same boat, huh, buddy?"

Chuck laughs, accepting the handshake. "Yeah, I'm Chuck."

"How long you been here, Chuck?"

He checks his watch again, responding, "About 35 minutes."

"Whew," Scott says. "I would have high tailed it out of here after ten. She do this often to you?"

"Not really." Chuck sits up, more uncomfortable than he was. "We're not actually . . . together." The words sound pathetic to his ears and taste bitter on his tongue even as he says them.

Scott shakes his head in pity.

Chuck nods, completely agreeing with his silent assessment of cowardice. "Yep. The whole 'just friends' thing."

Scott blinks in amazement. He leans toward Chuck, lowering his voice. "No way. She gave you that crap and you're still putting up with it? Dude, you've gotta get out of that relationship."

"What am I supposed to do, though? I can't just forget about my feelings for her."

Before Scott can knock some sense into him, Sarah starts muttering swear words from the fitting room.

Scott raises his eyebrows. "Classy woman you've got there, man."

Chuck purses his lips, not amused. "Sarah?" he calls. "You okay in there?"

"I can't get this damn zipper," she hisses.

"What are you waiting for?" Scott whispers with a smirk. "Go in and help."

Chuck swallows and gets to his feet. He hesitates in front of the door, finally deciding to knock. He winces. Who knocks on a fitting room door?

"Chuck?" Sarah asks, clearly confused.

"Yeah, it's me. Do you, uh, do you need some help?"

Silence.

He breathes again when he hears the lock move.

"Sure."

Timidly, he pushes the door open just wide enough to slip inside. Sarah stands in the corner, her arm twisted behind her back as she struggles with the zipper. He shoots her a shy smile.

"Hey, do you, uh, want me to . . . " he trails off shyly and gestures toward the dress, not trusting himself to finish the question.

She nods and turns her back to him. He curses his shaking fingers as he tries to zip up the dress. It doesn't help that she tenses up under his touch. He looks up at the ceiling and sighs, trying to control the urge to run his hand down her smooth, inviting skin. Luckily, he manages to zip up the dress without any major incident.

As soon as he releases the zipper, she hops away from him, turning around as she goes. His breath catches in his throat. She's gorgeous, as always. The dress, a buttercup yellow halter that comes down to her knees and accentuates all her curves, only enhances her natural beauty.

"What do you think?" she asks with a twirl, the dress flowing around her knees. Her voice is relaxed and normal, but he thinks he sees a hint of nervousness in her eyes. It's gone in a flash, and he attributes it to his imagination.

"Yeah," he says eloquently, nodding. "It's perfect."

She smiles. "Great. This one it is then!"

"All right. Do you . . ?" He gestures again in a zipping motion.

"Sure," she says again, turning around to give him access to the zipper.

He undoes it quickly this time, afraid that if he hesitates, he'll lose his courage.

Sarah turns around, staying close to him now. He smiles awkwardly and backs away.

"I guess I, I'll just wait outside then," he stammers, hurrying to steal out of the dressing room.

Chuck lets out his breath as he leans his back against the door. He glances over at Scott, still sitting, obviously bored, and holding his girlfriend's purse.

"Dude," Scott grins, "You are totally whipped."

**You're battin' those baby blues  
And, honey, I swear****  
The way you got me needing you  
Girl, it just ain't fair  
****You've given me a little bit  
Yeah, but don't stop there  
Come on, baby, give me a little more you  
Come on, baby, give me a little more you**

"Man," Awesome says as he and Chuck sit dejectedly on the couch, "What do you think they're doing?" He crosses his arms in front of his chest and bites his lip, staring at nothing.

"I really have no clue as to what goes on at a bridal shower," Chuck admits. "But I have vague notions of gifts, cake, and alcohol. And gossip."

"You think they're talking about us?" Awesome glances over at him, a worried gleam in his eye.

"Most definitely."

He thinks for a moment, finally responding, "Maybe we should talk about them."

Chuck laughs lightly. "What are we going to say? You love Ellie. I love Sarah. There's not much else to talk about."

"Huh," Awesome intones.

The two guys stare at the empty living room for a moment. Chuck thinks of suggesting pizza and a movie, but that's not too exciting. And Devon doesn't really go for video games. He keeps his mouth shut, and heads into the kitchen for a can of Coke, grabbing an extra one for his companion in misery.

Awesome continues, shouting so Chuck can hear him in the kitchen, "We can't just sit around here waiting."

"Agreed." He pops the top of his Coke can.

"So we have to do something manly."

Chuck almost chokes on his drink, Awesome pronounces it so confidently. He coughs, finally saying, "Uh, when you say 'manly,' what exactly do you have in mind?"

"Dude, anything! Rock climbing, white water rafting –"

Chuck reenters the living room, holding his hands up in surrender. Except the gesture is not that effective because both of his hands hold cans of Coke, one open, one still closed. "Okay, stop, stop. How about something fun, but a little less deadly?"

"Like what?" Awesome asks, taking a swig from the can Chuck offers.

Chuck plops back down on the couch and thinks for a minute, trying to find common ground. "Laser tag?" he suggests.

"Brilliant! You go get Morgan, I'll get Casey. Who else can we bring?"

He strokes his chin, unsure if Devon will like his suggestion. "You know, Anna would be an advantage to have on our team."

"This is a guys' night, Chuck," he says at first. They're both silent, then Awesome concedes, "Okay, you're right. Bring her, too."

"That leaves us one short."

"No," Devon says forcefully. "No Jeff or Lester! Those guys are creepy!"

"I know," Chuck admits, "But come on! Who else are we going to get! And isn't having one better than having both?"

"Fine." Devon fishes a coin out of his pocket. "We'll flip. Heads is Lester. Tails is Jeff."

He holds up a hand. "Wait, are you doing the palm flip or just letting it fall?"

Awesome holds out his hands in a gesture that clearly says "Are you kidding me?" He says, "Dude, the palm flip. Always."

"Right, of course."

Devon flips the coin.

The two grown men watch the coin fall into Awesome's outstretched hand. He flips it onto the back of his free one, and they look with wide eyes at the result of this silly little ritual.

"Heh," Chuck says, rising from the couch, "I guess I'll go call up Jeff."

"If he's drunk, you're bringing Lester!"

**I'm here fallin' for you  
My heart's callin' for you  
I know I never can get enough  
Don't hold back one bit of your love  
Strong and steady for you  
I'm all ready  
Come on, baby, give me a little more you  
Come on, baby, give me a little more you **

Devon slaps a laughing Chuck on the back as the two stroll into the apartment, still riding the high from their laser tag games. The two freeze at the sight of their significant others, one real and one fake, waiting in the kitchen and wearing not so thrilled expressions.

"Babe!" Awesome greets after the surprise passes, walking into the kitchen with his arms outstretched. "How was the shower?"

"Where have you boys been? No note, mister?" Ellie inquires a bit icily, rebuffing her boyfriend's advances.

Devon looks over at Chuck, confused. Chuck shrugs, walking over to the counter to pour himself a mug of coffee. On his way to sit down at the table, he passes Sarah, who's leaning against the counter, and a tiny jolt passes through him as their hands brush. He ignores it, struggling to keep his composure. She's been toying with him more than ever lately, and he has an inkling that she stuck her hand out just to see his reaction.

Clearing his throat, Chuck sits down and watches Awesome, still obviously confused.

Then Awesome smiles. Deviously.

"If you girls can have your secrets, we can have ours," he says, waving off Ellie's coldness. "Suffice it to say, we were bonding."

Ellie perks up a bit. "Really? That's great!"

Chuck laughs. The sound causes Sarah to look at him curiously. He stops abruptly, and she moves to stand behind him, wrapping her arms around his chest.

His eyebrows shoot up, but before he can blow their cover any further, Sarah asks, "Did you at least have a good time, sweetie?"

He smiles in spite of his discomfort. "If you're trying to get me to tell you where we were, it won't work," he says confidently.

She chuckles in his ear, her breath tickling his skin. "Of course not. I just wanted to know if you had fun. Geeze, Chuck. Talk about paranoid," she teases as she pulls away from him, tousling his hair.

"Well," Ellie announces, "I'm beat, so I'm off to bed."

"Yeah, same here," Awesome says, following her out of the kitchen.

"Ooh! I almost forgot! Sarah, the rest of the bridesmaids and I are going to the spa tomorrow. Please tell me you're off!"

"I am," Sarah replies with a smile.

"Great! But we're leaving pretty early. 8:30. Is that all right?"

"Yeah, that's fine. I'll just sleep here tonight."

Chuck chokes on his coffee. He's indulged this fake relationship with Sarah, but having her sleep over all the time is starting to grate on his nerves. She stays over so much that he's given her a drawer, a big step if their relationship were remotely real. He doesn't mind it every once in a while, because it's nice to wake up next to someone else, but he finds it a little irritating that she would just start inviting herself over, without even consulting him. Apparently his opinion matters less and less.

Fortunately, Ellie's already given Sarah a goodnight hug and she and Devon are halfway down the hall when he raises his eyes.

"You okay, Chuck?" Sarah asks, rubbing his back.

"Fine," he spits, rising from the table and retreating into his room.

**You're teasin' me with a touch  
And the whole world shakes  
Keep holdin' that river back****  
And the levee may break  
There's only so much that this ol' boy can take  
Come on, baby, give me a little more you  
Come on, baby, give me a little more you**

Chuck sits moodily in his computer chair, his arms crossed over his chest and his head thrown back, staring at the ceiling. He doesn't look over as she enters.

"Okay, Chuck," she says, and her voice has that negotiating tone to it that he's noticed on missions sometimes. "What'd I do now?"

He sighs, running a hand over his eyes. "Just because you obviously wear the pants in our . . . twisted relationship doesn't mean you can decide to sleep over whenever you feel like it." He opens his eyes, gesturing to the room. "This is my bedroom. Hell, this is my bed! I think I should get a choice in who sleeps in it."

She smirks, and he can feel his willpower slipping away.

"What?" he asks, annoyed.

"Chuck," she replies playfully, "You're sticking up for yourself."

He stares, his eyes narrowed, unsure of where she's going with this.

"It's kinda sexy," she laughs.

Damn. There goes his willpower.

"Really?"

"No," she says, completely serious.

And let the games begin. He gets out of the chair and walks past her, irritated that she can toy with his heart so flippantly.

"It's _very_ sexy."

He freezes. Before he can move a muscle, she catches him by the arm and spins him about, eagerly capturing his lips with her own. He sinks into the kiss, acutely aware of her fingertips glancing over the back of his neck, threading into his hair.

She breaks away from him, but stays in his embrace, smiling.

"Okay, yeah, you can sleep here," he concedes with raised eyebrows. "Or not sleep. That'd be fine, too."

She laughs, and he delights in the sound. "Well, thank you, but why don't we go for a drive?"

He looks at her curiously.

"I've got something to show you."

**I'm here fallin' for you  
My hearts callin' for you  
I know I never can get enough  
Don't hold back one bit of your love  
Strong and steady for you  
I'm all ready  
Come on, baby, give me a little more you  
Come on, baby, give me a little more you **

"Gonna tell me where we're going now?" Chuck asks for the twelfth time in as many minutes.

"Hmm . . . nope," Sarah grins.

He laughs as they wind through a nice, middle-class neighborhood filled with perfectly manicured lawns and two-car garages. He can only imagine the chaos that goes on inside the houses, standing in direct opposition to the serenity presented to the casual passers-by. A minute later, though, she cruises to a stop on the side of the road and looks over at him expectantly.

"Uh, okay?" he asks, not quite sure what is so special about the spot.

She tilts her head to her side. Eyes narrowed, he unbuckles and leans across the car. Through her window, he can see a house – a beautiful red-brick three-story. It has enough windows to illuminate the whole first floor without inside lights, a balcony on the second floor, and a skylight on the third. He flicks his gaze at her, suddenly realizing how close she is, and that she's been staring at him to gauge his reaction. Swallowing, he jolts back to his side of the car and leans his back against the passenger's side door.

"It's," he begins uncertainly, "a house?"

It's a gorgeous house, to be sure, but he feels like an idiot for failing to grasp its special meaning.

She smiles and looks away shyly. "It's my house," she says abruptly, but immediately recants. "I mean, it's not. It's not mine, as in, I own it. But it . . . means something to me. I'm not sure why. I was driving one day, trying to clear my head after one of our stupid fights," she pauses, glancing over at him, and he grins, "And I just . . . fell in love with it."

He smiles at her rambling. "It's your dream house," he says softly, overwhelmed with the trust she's shown in him.

She nods, sighing, and looks back at the house. Before he can think about what he's doing, he's out of the car and across the street, ignoring her muffled protests.**  
**

**Give me a little more you****  
Give me a little more you  
Come on, baby**

Chuck's halfway up the sidewalk before Sarah catches up with him, lacing her arm through his.

"Just what do you think you're doing, Mr. Bartowski?" she asks, her voice tinged with both annoyance and admiration.

"I'm not quite sure, actually," he admits with a smirk. "But I guess we'll find out."

Sarah rolls her eyes as he knocks on the door. Chuck wiggles his eyebrows ridiculously as they listen to the bustling inside the house. A few seconds later, the door opens, revealing a short, pudgy man of about 40 in a plaid shirt.

Chuck extends his hand with a smile. "Hi, my name's Chuck Bartowski, and this is Sarah."

"His girlfriend," she quickly interjects.

The man looks at Chuck's hand, but doesn't move to shake it.

"And we are actually," Chuck pauses, swallowing, "Well, we're in love with your house."

The man doesn't respond.

Chuck continues, "Okay, um, is there any chance you're going to be selling it in the near future?"

The owner stares blankly, finally saying, "No."

"No? None at all? So, if I were to offer you a million dollars, you wouldn't take it?"

"Do you have a million dollars?" The man asks incredulously, crossing his arms in a vaguely threatening manner.

"No, I don't." Chuck turns to Sarah. "Wait, do _you_ have a million dollars?"

Sarah looks at him skeptically. "What makes you think I have a million dollars?"

"You do get paid really well, and you've got that sweet Porsche, which you obviously can't afford on a Weinerlicious salary," he reasons, making her laugh.

Sarah turns back to the man, who's looking at them like they've escaped from the nearest psych ward. "I'm sorry we've bothered you, sir. You have a beautiful house. Have a great night." She grabs Chuck by the elbow and drags him back to the road.

He laughs, "That went well, don't you think?"

She grins, shaking her head.

He stops in the middle of the street, watching her happily. The glow of amusement on her face would be enough to make him fall in love with her right here and now, under the yellowy streetlights, if he weren't already completely head over heels for her. The moment makes him determined that, if he can't buy this house for her, he'll at least build her an exact replica.

A car coming slowly down the street honks its horn, calling him back to reality. He waves an apology and hurries to the car, where Sarah's waiting, perched on the hood. He gives her a half-smile and hops up beside her. The smile grows as she laces her fingers through his.

He takes his phone out of his pocket and points it at the house, snapping a quick photo. It's not great, but it'll do for now.

"What are you doing?" she asks.

"Taking a picture."

"Why?"

"For . . . memories."

She smiles, then turns away to look at the stars, or what can be seen of them through the light pollution.

"How are we going to do this?" he asks, studying her striking features, illuminated so harshly by the streetlamps and the moonlight.

She turns her attention back to him and purses her lips, deciding on an answer. "The CIA can turn a blind eye on partner-partner relationships. They're even better sometimes. They help agents get through missions without endangering civilians. But handler-asset relationships are much different, much more important."

"So what are you saying? That we have our one night and then forget about our feelings in the morning?" His voice is shaky, his tone bordering on defiant.

"Of course not," she says hastily, looking out at the neighborhood. "I'm suggesting that we . . . tread lightly. Take it one day at a time."

She gazes up at him, and he finally sees what he's been hoping to see in her eyes. He nods and leans his forehead against hers. She reaches her free hand up, tangling her fingers in his curls.

"Okay," he whispers. "I trust you, Sarah."

**Give me a little more you  
Give me a little more you**


	16. The Way I Am

Song: "The Way I Am," by Ingrid Michaelson.

* * *

_Brrring_. _Brrrrrrring_. _Brrrrrrrrrrrring_.

Sarah wakes with a prolonged groan, reaching for the phone on the nightstand without bothering to open her eyes.

"'Lo?" she asks, her voice croaky.

"Agent Walker, if I didn't know any better, I'd say the Intersect was having a negative effect on you. As I recall, you never slept past nine, even on your days off."

Her eyes fly open. She glances at the clock – 9:01. Chuckling, she answers, "With all due respect, Director, it's only just nine o'clock now."

"Hmmm," he grumbles disapprovingly. She resists the urge to ask why he called, because she knows she'll never be able to keep a petulant tone out of her voice. Thankfully, he continues, "There's been a change in your assignment."

She almost chokes, and is forced to cover her mouth with a hand to keep from lashing out with a thousand questions. Her heart beats wildly, but she closes her eyes and breathes deeply, trying to calm herself. Removing her hand from her mouth, she asks evenly, "What sort of change?"

Graham replies, "Given the Bartowski sister's . . . upcoming nuptials, we believe it is best if he moves in with you. As he is looking for his own apartment already, it would look suspicious if Agent Casey were to follow him for surveillance."

She's silent, letting the order sink in. A rush of relief comes over her, and she feels lightheaded. Irrationally, the thought of a reassignment had flitted through her head.

Moving in with Chuck.

She smiles, but the smile quickly fades from her lips.

It's what she wants, but at the same time, it's exactly what scares her the most.

**If you were falling, then I would catch you.  
You need a light, I'd find a match.**

"So, Chuck, bro," Awesome says as he comes into the living room with a handful of drinks, "Have you found a new place yet?"

"Eh," Chuck sighs, "To tell you the truth, I haven't really started looking properly yet. Sorry, man. I'll get on that this week."

"No, no pressure."

"Yeah, Chuck," Ellie chimes in, taking a can of cola from Devon. "We're not kicking you out. In fact, you don't even have to find a new place if you don't really want to."

"No, no, it's time for me to move out. You guys deserve your own place," he says.

Sarah watches the exchange uncomfortably. She's thought about moving in with Chuck, but always in the context of a romantic relationship. In her scenarios, that had always occurred long down the road, and always after she had detached herself from the agency. By far the hardest part about this is that she doesn't want him to get his hopes up, but she can't pass up this opportune time to bring up her offer.

She plasters a smile on her face. "Why don't you move in with me?" she asks, injecting a flirtatious tint into her voice.

Chuck looks at her in surprise and opens his mouth to respond, but merely splutters unintelligibly.

Awesome raises his eyebrows, slapping Chuck on the shoulder. "Outstanding idea, Sarah."

Ellie cocks her head, looking intently at the pair. "I thought you two were just friends."

"Oh," Chuck stammers, "We were. We are, actually, but uh, um . . ." He glances over at Sarah for support.

She smiles persuasively, taking the lead. "We've been thinking about getting back together for a while now, and this seems like a logical step."

Ellie's eyes widen in surprise and she grins in happiness. "Oh my God! That's great! Congratulations!"

Sarah grasps Chuck's hand, looking at him carefully to gauge his reaction.

He laughs. "I guess that's settled then."

'**Cuz I love the way you say good morning.  
And you take me the way I am.**

Chuck and Sarah sit on the fountain, relaxing in the cool evening air.

"So," he begins curiously, "What's that about?"

She looks up at him, smiling coyly. "What's what about?"

He chuckles. "You know, the moving in together thing."

"Oh." Her heart drops. Of all the scenarios she'd imagined, moving in together because the CIA ordered it was not one of them. She wants so much to tell him that this is real, that this is her own decision, but knows telling him that will only come back to haunt her. So she goes with the truth. "Actually, Chuck," she says softly, taking his hands, "I got orders from Graham yesterday. He thinks it'd be safer for you, since I can keep a closer eye on you if we're together."

He looks away, letting his breath out slowly. "What about Casey? He's been doing a good job so far."

"Yeah, he has. But if you move, it'll look suspicious if Casey moves with you." She pauses, searching his eyes for clues as to what he's thinking. To head off any ill will, she says, "If you're not entirely comfortable with this, Chuck, I can talk to Graham. We can –"

"I'm fine with it," he says calmly, mercifully cutting her off before she begins to ramble.

She cocks her head, silently asking for an explanation.

"I've kind of come to accept the weird, somewhat unconventional relationship we have. And I'm okay with it." He looks at her intently and massages her hands with his thumbs, a small smile on his face.

Their relationship is weird indeed. They spend almost all of their free time together, they touch more often than is proper for just friends, and everyone knows how they feel about each other, but they're not actually dating.

A thought pops into her head – her place is fine for just her, but it isn't really big enough for two people.

"Chuck," she says with a smile, bringing a hand up to his chest. "I think we may need to find a more spacious apartment."

**If you are chilly, here take my sweater.  
Your head is aching, I'll make it better.**

Sarah reclines on their new living room sofa as she listens to Chuck bid Ellie and Awesome good night. She sighs contentedly, relishing the feeling of sharing a place with him. Perhaps they can start again here – go back to square one and figure this thing out.

She opens her eyes as Chuck walks in. He gives her a shy smile, plopping down on the couch behind her. She leans up just enough to lay her head against his leg.

"Mmm, I'm beat," she says quietly, closing her eyes again.

"Me, too," he agrees with a chuckle. "But we've still got a ton of boxes to unpack."

She reaches over her body to nudge his knee. "It's all your stupid toys."

"They're not toys!" he says, but his protestation is weakened by his laughter.

"Fine. Action figures. Whatever," she concedes with a smile. "Either way, we can unpack tomorrow. Right now, I'm exhausted."

Hearing him clear his throat nervously, Sarah opens her eyes and sits up. She gazes at him questioningly.

He avoids her eyes when he inquires, "Uh, do you know which box has the extra blankets in it?"

Her brow furrows. "What? Chuck . . ."

His eyes widen innocently, and she tilts her head, a silent accusation in her glare.

"You're not seriously thinking of sleeping on the couch, are you?" she asks.

His silence is all the answer she needs.

She frowns in disapproval. "That's nonsensical, Chuck. There's no reason why you shouldn't sleep in the bedroom."

"Er . . ." he stammers.

"What's the matter? If you weren't comfortable with the arrangements, you should have said something before we moved in," she tells him with an exaggerated sigh. She rubs her eyes sleepily, beginning to get annoyed.

"Well, what about you?"

She looks at him, more closely this time. His gaze is almost unnerving. "What about me?" she asks softly.

He sinks into a more relaxed position, putting his elbow on the back of the couch and resting his temple on his fist. "You're always talking about me being comfortable, but are you? This is technically an assignment, after all."

She manages to catch her jaw before it drops noticeably. She's been so caught up with how he would react to moving in together that she's barely had time to think about her own feelings. And she'd be insulting her own intelligence if she even entertained the thought that Graham or Casey would be interested in how this development affected her.

But Chuck.

Chuck notices everything.

"I . . . I'm fine with it," she chokes out.

He quirks an eyebrow. "You sure?"

Not trusting herself to speak, she merely nods.

He takes a deep breath, his nostrils flaring. With a nod of his own, he smiles winningly at her, rises from the couch, and reaches out a hand.

"Well, then. Shall we?"

Sarah returns his smile, the uncomfortable atmosphere dissolving along with her annoyance and doubt. She takes his hand and lets him help her to her feet, happily looking forward to the prospect of sleeping next to him.

'**Cuz I love the way you call me baby.  
And you take me the way I am.**

After a month living with Chuck, Sarah's never been happier. They've eased into a routine that allows each of them enough alone time to unwind. With the afternoon off, Sarah's decided to work on her domestic skills a little – she's baking chocolate chip cookies. The oven timer beeps, and Sarah pulls every single bit of cooking knowledge from her brain to try and decide if the cookies are actually done. After a fierce debate with herself, she decides that they are, and she takes the trays out of the oven.

While she waits for the cookies to cool, she cleans up the mess she's made with the flour, sugar, and other ingredients. She almost laughs out loud when Cyndi Lauper's "Girls Just Wanna Have Fun" comes on the radio, because it's finally a song she recognizes, and of course, it's a ridiculous one. Then she realizes she's home alone, and she does indeed let out a laugh.

Taciturn by nature, Sarah rarely lets loose, even in the comfort of her own home. She smiles.

_Home_.

The apartment in which she's now living is nothing like what she's used to, but all that matters is who she's living with.

As quiet as she is, even the first few measures of the song are so infectious that she can't help but start to groove a little to the beat. And once she starts, she can't stop.

Before she knows it, she's bouncing around the kitchen and singing at the top of her lungs.

"Girls just wanna have fu-un! They just wanna, they just wanna-a-ah!"

"Whatcha doin', Sarah?"

She whips around, shock written on her face. Chuck's leaning in the door frame with a smirk.

"Cooking, I see," he teases.

"Yeah, that's right. Got a problem, mister?"

"No, no problem. I just didn't know you could cook, that's all."

She smiles. "Well, I can't," she confesses.

He lifts an eyebrow.

"Your sister's been teaching me."

"Ahh! So _that_'s where you've been sneaking off to! And here, I thought you'd just been going behind my back to meet other guys."

She laughs, her embarrassment melting away. "No, I've been having cooking lessons!" She cocks her head and purses her lips, changing her mind. "Well, baking lessons."

He breathes in the scent of the freshly baked cookies. "Mmm . . . and they seem to be paying off. Are you going to be making dinner from now on?"

She grins. "Ha! I can't actually make dinner yet. Just dessert!"

He laughs, "Well, you know you can get me to do anything if you tempt me with gooey chocolate chip cookies."

"Hmm, I do now," she replies, an evil smile playing over her face.

"As long as you don't abuse your knowledge."

"That depends."

"On what?"

"On what kinds of services you offer in exchange for cookies."

"Well . . . I've been told that I'm pretty handy at fixing computers." He reaches for a cookie.

She pushes his hand away. "I'll keep that in mind the next time mine breaks. In the meantime, no cookies for you!"

"What? Why not?"

"Wait, have you actually accepted cookies as payment for fixing a computer?"

"You're changing the subject. And of course not!" he says unconvincingly. "Big Mike would kill me."

"Oh, my God!" she says, picking up the spatula and brandishing it menacingly at him. "You totally have!"

"That's ridiculous!" he protests, dodging the kitchen utensil as he reaches for another cookie.

She swats away his hand. "Nope! No cookies!"

"Ow! Why not?"

"These are for Morgan's birthday party!"

He balks, staring at her. She shovels the cookies off the tray and onto the cooling rack. When she realizes that he hasn't moved for a minute, she turns to look at him, waving the spatula in front of his face.

"Hellllllo, Chuck? You all right?"

"You're making cookies for my charming, yet occasionally overbearing and annoying, best friend's birthday party?" he asks, his expression full of awe.

With the corners of her mouth twitching upwards, she raises an eyebrow. "Yeah? So?"

"I just . . . am stunned, that's all."

He leans forward, and the proximity is nerve-wracking. Her breath quickens, and she thinks that he's finally going to take the leap, that he's finally going to kiss her. She smiles to herself, because after spending so much time pushing him away, she's finally ready to be with him.

He grins and jumps away from her, triumphantly waving a cookie and shoving it in his mouth.

"Yum," he tries to say, his mouth full of cookie, "Delicious!"

She shakes her head, laughing in spite of herself.

**I'd buy you Rogaine if you start losing all your hair.  
Sew on patches to all you tear.**

When they're the first to arrive for the party, a frazzled Anna puts Sarah and Chuck in charge of decorating, including hanging what looks like a homemade "Happy Birthday, Morgan" banner. Anna retreats into the kitchen to finish decorating the cake, apologizing for being so behind schedule. Shrugging, Chuck shoots Sarah a quick smile and pulls a chair over for her to stand on. He helps her up with one hand, his fingers lingering against hers a few seconds longer than is entirely proper. She hands him one end of the banner, secures the other, and hops down agilely.

She takes the banner from him, and they move to the other side of the doorway, Chuck dragging the chair. With her hands tied up with the sign and the tape, he takes the opportunity to hoist her onto the chair by her waist. She lets out a little "oh" of surprise, but can't stop her heartbeat from racing when he lets his hands rest on her hips longer than necessary.

He smiles up at her cheekily, "Sorry. Couldn't resist."

Sarah laughs, shaking her head in mock chastisement. Straightening the banner, she promptly secures it in place. Hands on her hips and a smile on her face, she admires her handiwork. Turning carefully on her perch, she finds Chuck watching her with appreciation in his gaze.

"Catch me," she says impulsively, jumping into his surprised but sturdy arms.

She could have gotten off the chair by herself easily, of course, but when she's around him, she finds herself doing superfluous things merely to have more fun. And fun is an ingredient that's definitely been missing from her life for the past few years. Chuck's kind of fun anyway.

He laughs delightedly, his knees giving way only the slightest bit before he regains control of her. His laughter fades away as he stares intently into her eyes.

Suddenly nervous, suddenly knowing she should regret her spontaneity, Sarah becomes intensely aware of how fast she's breathing. Chuck inclines his head, but by only the smallest fraction that she may just be imagining it. To encourage him, or maybe to encourage herself, she wraps one arm around his neck and rests her other hand along his cheek.

"Hey, guys, Ellie just called. She's –"

Sarah and Chuck turn their heads at the interruption, embarrassed.

"Sorry, Chuckles, I'll just, I, whoa, blurg," Anna says, flustered, as she disappears through the doorway again.

Chuck turns back to Sarah, his cheeks bright red. He sets her on her feet gently. She takes an exaggerated interest in smoothing her blouse and straightening her hair until she feels like it's safe to look at him again.

"Uh, I think I'll go help Anna in the kitchen," she stammers, pointing to the door and backing away awkwardly.

"Yeah, yeah," he says with a strained smile. "Sure."

She turns, her face relaxing when her back is to him. As she goes into the kitchen, she swears she hears him mumble something that sounds remarkably like, "Way to go, Bartowski."

Two hours later, the party's in full swing.

"No way!" Morgan exclaims as he unwraps the full-scale replica lightsaber she bought him. "Thank you, Sarah!"

Sarah laughs. "No problem. I'm glad you like it."

He fist pumps the air. "Definitely, definitely. Love it! How'd you know?"

"Anna helped me pick it out."

"Oh, Anna, baby, thank you."

Sarah smiles, shooting Chuck a knowing glance as Morgan gives Anna a sweet little kiss.

"You're welcome, babe," Anna replies, "But it was mostly Sarah's idea."

Chuck tosses his present at his best friend. "Come on, come on, come on! Open mine already!"

Morgan catches the gift just in time, a grin on his face.

Sarah continues to watch the festivities, conflicted. On the one hand, it's a great excuse to shore up her relationship cover with Chuck. On the other, the closer she gets to him, the fewer excuses she has to keep their cover from blossoming into the real thing.

Chuck nudges her in the side, bringing her out of her thoughts and back to the present.

"Hey," he says softly. "Where'd you go?"

With a slight shake of her head, she replies, "I just spaced for a minute, that's all."

"Well, you're missing the party!" he grins resplendently, drawing a laugh from her lips. They lapse into silence, and he adds more calmly, "You didn't have to go to all that trouble, you know."

She gives him a half-smile. "What? Shopping with Anna? I like shopping, and I like Anna. No trouble there."

He laughs. "I thought you bought it on the internet."

"All right, you caught me. But we still went shopping together," she chuckles.

"Okay, fine," Chuck tells her, "Even if you did buy it on the internet, I'm still impressed."

She takes a sip of her drink before responding. "Why?"

"Just," he begins shyly, "thanks, that's all."

He looks like he wants to say something more, and Sarah's reluctant to break the stare, but they're interrupted by Awesome, who appears behind the couch.

"Chuck, buddy!" he exclaims, inclining his head toward his future brother-in-law. "Can you come help settle an argument for us, dude? We need your opinion on which superhero is most awesome."

Laughing, Chuck replies, "Sure, Devon. Are you talking about all superheroes? Because that's a pretty broad category. Or do you have some criteria for narrowing it down?"

Sarah smiles at how easily he lapses into what she affectionately calls geek-speak. But then Chuck moves to the other side of the room, leaving her surprisingly empty.

'**Cuz I love you more than I could ever promise  
And you take me the way I am.**

Sarah wakes, blissfully cozy. It takes her a moment to groggily realize that the pillow on which she's settled comfortably is not a pillow at all, but Chuck Bartowski's chest.

"Mmm . . ." she murmurs as he stretches beneath her.

"Good morning," he says, sounding fully awake.

She groans. "Why do you sound so . . . conscious?"

"Because I've been awake for the last half-hour," he laughs. "It's twenty 'til ten," he adds, answering her unspoken question.

She laughs softly, her lips spluttering sleepily. 9:40. Graham would have a fit if he knew. But sleeping in on a day off is not something she does very often, even after she spends the night at a party with friends, and she intends to take full advantage of it.

Chuck moves to get out of bed.

"Where are you going?" she asks. "Come back and be my pillow!"

He laughs. "I'm going to make some breakfast. I thought you might like to eat."

Hmm. Yep. She does indeed. Damn him for knowing that people like to eat in the morning. She groans her acquiescence and rolls onto her side. He jumps out of bed and into the bathroom to brush his teeth.

"What are you making?" she asks over the sound of the rushing water.

He walks into the door frame, holding his toothbrush in his mouth. With toothpaste speckled around his lips and his hair still mussed up from sleeping, he looks insanely adorable.

"What do you want?" he asks, splattering specks of toothpaste.

"Mmm . . . pancakes?"

He chuckles. "Coming right up."

After he finishes brushing, he heads into the kitchen. She listens to him clattering around, making an inhuman amount of noise, and she wonders if he needs any help. She laughs into her pillow. They both could stand to learn some basic cooking skills.

Her fears are only confirmed a few minutes later when the stench of burning food reaches the bedroom.

"Ug," she mumbles, unwilling to get up. Dragging herself out of bed, she throws on a light robe and shuffles into the hallway.

"What's that smell?" she asks, emerging into the kitchen.

"Uh, er," he stammers, trying to block the stovetop from her view.

Her eyes widen in curiosity. "What? What are you hiding?"

"Nothing! Nothing at all!" he grins sheepishly.

She gives him a flirtatious smile and saunters toward him. Leaning close, she whispers, "Come on, Chuck. You can tell me."

He lets out a short, embarrassed burst of laughter and leans away to allow her to see the mess behind him on the counter.

"Oh, wow," she laughs. "What happened?"

He shakes his head, still smiling. "It was supposed to be breakfast."

"Oh, Chuck . . ."

"I'm sorry, Sarah. I just –"

"Chuck, I'm not going to love you any less because you burned the pancakes," she laughs, tousling his hair on her way to the fridge.

He tenses. "Wait. What'd you say?"

Sarah freezes, her fingers on the door handle of the refrigerator and her eyes closed in regret. How did she let that slip? She turns slowly to find him regarding her intently, waiting for her next move. Staring at him, she feels balanced on a precipice.

He smiles kindly. "You know what? It doesn't matter."

He turns away to clean up the counter, leaving her speechless. In all their time together, he had never passed up an opportunity to figure out her feelings for him. And all of a sudden he just gives up? She takes a step forward, but pauses as she realizes that he didn't give up because of himself.

The knowledge that he forsook his own normally insatiable curiosity and let this extremely awkward moment slide for her comfort floors her.

She watches him with undisguised admiration. She loves every bit of him - his dark, inviting hair; his lean but strong arms; his warm, affectionate eyes; his everything. The way he loves her unconditionally, the way he looks out for her needs, the way he makes her feel important, worthwhile, loved.

Watching him, another realization comes over her. She will never again find anyone else like him, or experience what he's given her. So why shouldn't she take a chance on a once-in-a-lifetime kind of love?

"Chuck," she whispers, her voice quivering. She walks toward him, growing more nervous with each step.

"Mmm?" he swivels to face her, leaning against the counter and looking down at her.

"I meant it."

He shakes his head slightly, silently asking for clarification.

She smiles shyly. "When I said . . . what I said. I didn't mean for it to come out like that, but I meant it." Standing on her tiptoes, she tentatively brushes her lips against his. Pulling away to look at him again, she says softly, "I think we should give this a chance."

He stares at her, stunned, his lips parted the tiniest bit. Then he breaks into a grin, wider than she's ever seen.

She turns and walks out of the kitchen.

"Where are you going?" he asks, his voice laced with confusion.

In the doorway, she looks back at him, crooks a finger, and says saucily, "Back to bed. Care to join me?"

Still grinning, he follows her. Resting his hands lightly on her hips, he places a soft kiss on her neck. She takes his hand and leads him back into the bedroom.

And she decides that maybe this whole moving-in together thing was a good idea after all.

**You take me the way I am.  
You take me the way I am.**


	17. You Shouldn't Kiss Me Like This

Song: "You Shouldn't Kiss Me Like This," by Toby Keith.

Thanks to **HJB **for the song suggestion.

* * *

**I've got a funny feeling  
The moment that your lips touched mine  
Something shot right through me  
My heart skipped a beat in time**

Chuck stumbles down the sidewalk, barely aware of his destination. He's been walking for almost two hours, and his mind's just as foggy as when he started.

To get his thoughts off what happened, he focuses on his feet, his flip-flops hitting the pavement with soothing regularity. Even so, he can't help thinking about her.

**There's a different feel about you tonight  
It's got me thinkin' lots of crazy things  
I even think I saw a flash of light  
It felt like electricity**

_Chuck stands on the beach, digging his toes into the sand while he watches Awesome, Ellie, and Sarah play Monkey-in-the-Middle with a splash football. He laughs uncomfortably as the girls successfully keep the football away from Awesome, who tries his best to snatch it away, hovering close to Ellie the whole time._

"_Yo, Chuck, bro," Morgan says, calling Chuck out of his musings. _

_He turns his head just in time to see the Frisbee flying at him and he fumbles to catch it. "Sorry, man. I guess my head's somewhere else today."_

"_Yeah, tell me about it."_

"_It's Sarah, isn't it?" Anna asks insightfully from the third corner of their Frisbee triangle. _

_Tossing the projectile to her, he answers mournfully, "Yeah, maybe."_

"_You two should get back together," Morgan announces in a matter-of-fact manner as he catches a toss from his girlfriend._

"_Come on, Chuckles," Anna says. "It's the Fourth of July! Just relax."_

_Chuck sighs. "Yeah, I suppose."_

_Sarah calls his name just as Morgan throws. He turns his head at the exact wrong moment, and the plastic projectile hits him square in the temple. _

"_Ah!" he exclaims, his hand shooting up to his head. He staggers, his knees buckling slightly. _

_He hears a mash-up of voices asking if he's okay. With his eyes squeezed shut, he sucks in his breath and shakes his head vigorously, the pain subsiding. _

"_I'm all right," he says to no one in particular. "I'm all right."_

_Opening his eyes, he finds Sarah standing in front of him, dripping wet from running out of the ocean and wearing a worried expression. She reaches out her hand, her fingertips gently grazing his temple. _

"_Are you okay? How'd that happen?" she asks, and he almost can't breathe because of her proximity. And the fact that she's in a skimpy bikini. That may have something to do with it._

_He stares at her for a few seconds before realizing stupidly that she expects a response. "Oh, yeah, it's nothing. An accident. I just . . . it's plastic, you know," he stammers._

_She smiles and withdraws her hand. "Okay. Whatever you say, Chuck. Just . . ." she pauses, glancing down at her feet, "be more careful, all right?"_

_He squints into the sun, his heart suddenly heavier. "Yeah, yeah. Because of the Intersect, right?"_

_Her eyes shoot back to his. "What?" she asks, her tone hurt. "Of course not, Chuck." She sighs and turns away, running a hand through her damp hair. "I thought you knew me better than that."_

_Chuck swallows and watches her walk back to the water, doubting if he'll ever learn to stop putting his foot in his mouth._

**You shouldn't kiss me like this  
Unless you mean it like that  
Cause I'll just close my eyes  
And I won't know where I'm at  
We'll get lost on this dance floor  
Spinnin' around  
And around  
And around  
And around**

_Chuck allows himself a small, contented smile. _

_Things have calmed down since the afternoon. Sarah's forgiven him for being an idiot, though he does have a small bruise as a souvenir from the Frisbee debacle. He and Morgan went head-to-head in a hotdog eating contest, with Morgan unsurprisingly coming out on top by devouring nearly twice as many._

_And now the whole gang is relaxing on the beach and watching the fireworks. Ellie and Devon are lying entwined on the beach blanket in the front of the group. Morgan and Anna are cuddled together, although Morgan's more preoccupied with his girlfriend than he is with the show. _

_Chuck is sitting with his arms wrapped loosely around his knees, his head thrown back to watch the fireworks. Sarah sits beside him, her shoulder casually brushing against his. He likes the contact. It's soft, comforting. _

_He hasn't had someone to spend holidays with in a while, and, despite his initial misgivings, just sitting beside her like this banishes all thoughts of their fake relationship. _

_Just for tonight, they're Chuck and Sarah._

_She bumps his shoulder. _

_As nervous as he would be on a first date, he chooses to ignore her in favor of the exploding fireworks, the colors colliding before his eyes. _

_She bumps him again. _

_He turns to her and is surprised to see the candor written on her face. For a moment, all he can do is stare. Her hair's pulled back into a loose ponytail, and she's nestled adorably in a Buy More sweatshirt he lent to her. The bursts of light from the fireworks are bouncing off of her face, illuminating it in the summer night._

_Despite her expression, she doesn't seem to have anything to say. She looks back at him patiently, her eyes flickering back and forth between his. By now, he's totally forgotten the show in the sky in favor of her pale blue eyes, barely visible in the darkness. _

_He doesn't move a muscle as she inches toward him, trying futilely to ignore the pounding of blood in his ears and the racing of his heart in his chest. The first thing his mind registers after her lips meet his is how familiar they seem. They haven't kissed since November, and it feels like only yesterday. _

_Before he can stop himself, he's twisted towards her, enveloping her with his arms, one arm around her waist and the other hand at the nape of her neck. She threads the fingers of one hand through his hair, and with the other hand she puts soft pressure on his neck to pull him closer. Her tongue grazes against his lips, and he opens his mouth to her, dimly thinking that they shouldn't be doing this. But her taste is intoxicating. She tastes of summer sweetness – cotton candy and lemonade. The sense of her is so overwhelming that he surrenders completely, giving himself over to the kiss. _

_Surprisingly, he can still see the colorful bursts of the fireworks behind his closed eyelids.__**  
**_**  
They're all watchin' us now  
They think we're falling in love  
They'd never believe we're just friends  
When you kiss me like this  
I think you mean it like that  
If you do, baby, kiss me again**

A stray firework explodes in the quiet night sky, bringing Chuck harshly back to reality. The hours of walking have done nothing for his jumbled emotions, and he still can find no reason for Sarah's actions.

They had been getting along all right. He hadn't liked it when she refused to talk about their feelings, but he had grudgingly accepted their status as friends. Truthfully, though, he has to admit that it's been working. They've become comfortable as a team, so comfortable that Graham and Beckham were utterly ecstatic at their last mission report. Success on a mission had never come so swiftly or easily, and it was all due to how well they're currently melding as a team.

He knows how much Sarah values her professionalism from firsthand experience. So he can't understand why she would risk their team complacency, their friendship by kissing him like that. As much as he had enjoyed it, he didn't think he could handle her denying having feelings for him afterward.

Running away to clear his head didn't work as well as he'd hoped, so, hours later, he stumbles back into the courtyard, his only wish to go to sleep and wake up having forgotten about Sarah's moment of madness. But he catches a glimpse of her emerging from Casey's apartment just as he's walking past the fountain. Abruptly, he speeds up his pace, hoping to safely escape into Casa Bartowski before she notices him. Unfortunately, he's betting against a spy. Of course she notices him.

"Chuck!"

Sighing, he stops walking, but doesn't turn around to face her.

"Chuck," she repeats, more softly this time but no less insistent.

Even simply hearing her voice is mesmerizing, though, and his feet fight with his mind over whether to turn toward her. He puts off his decision long enough to force her to act, and she appears in front of him, her fingers drifting lightly over his upper arm. He shudders at the touch.

Her brow furrows in confusion. "Hey," she says quietly, lifting her chin to try to look in his eyes.

"Hey," he answers without meeting her gaze.

They stand awkwardly for another moment before Sarah breaks the silence by asking, "Can we talk?"

**Everybody swears we make the perfect pair  
But dancing is as far as it goes  
Girl, you've never moved me quite  
The way you moved me tonight  
I just wanted you to know  
I just wanted you to know**

Once in his bedroom, Chuck paces by the closet, his arms crossed over his chest. He keeps his eyes on the floor so he doesn't have to look into hers. He's afraid that if he does, he'll completely lose all his willpower and do whatever she asks of him. And he's certain that she'll ask him to forget about today.

Sitting on the bed and swinging her feet, Sarah clears her throat uncertainly. Chuck continues to pace, his footsteps muffled by the carpet.

"Come on, Chuck," she urges. "Say something."

Not in the mood for her games, he stops walking and rubs his eyes sleepily.

"Fine," she continues. "Will you at least tell me where you were? Ellie and I have been worried about you."

He wants to tell her that they didn't have to worry, that she should always know that he'll come back, but his pride gets the better of him. "Walking," he replies simply.

She nods, but the expression on her face tells him that she won't let the subject rest.

Before she can ask any more, he grunts, "And where have you been?"

"With Ellie and Awesome mostly." She pauses, rearranging her hands on her lap. "But I also had a little chat with Casey."

He looks up in surprise, wanting to ask but afraid of the answer.

"We talked about you," she tells him, confirming his fears.

"What about me?" he chokes out.

She looks him straight in the eye as she confesses, "I told him that I compromised myself." She takes a deep breath before adding, "With you."

Chuck feels like the world stops spinning, and the sudden loss of motion throws him. He sits on the window sill, stunned and painfully aware of the fact that "compromised" could well mean that she's going to be reassigned. As infuriating as she is sometimes, he won't be able to stand life away from her.

He opens his mouth, but finds the words hard to come. Finally, he stammers, "Are you leaving?"

Her eyes flicker for a moment, betraying the fact that she wasn't expecting that response. She quickly schools her expression and crosses the room to sit next to him, sitting close to but not touching him.

She asks, "Why would you think that?"

He sighs, throwing his head back to look at the ceiling. "Because you've spent the last ten months trying to avoid whatever's between us."

"Oh, Chuck," she breathes and turns toward him, their knees knocking together. She reaches out for his hand, and the touch is surprisingly soothing to him. "I don't want to do that anymore," she continues, her voice soft and hesitant. "I don't want to keep pushing you away. Because if I do, I'll turn around one day expecting you to be there and instead find I've lost you."

Chuck looks over at her, prepared to disbelieve her words. But the expression on her face is so open, so truthful that his irritation dissipates. He offers her a half-smile. "Are you," he sputters, "Are you sure?"

She smiles shyly and nods.

"But what about Casey?" he inquires, unable to accept her about-face so suddenly and without explanation.

Her gaze flickers away for a second, but her smile never falters. "He was . . . not too happy at first, but I finally convinced him that it'd benefit the team if we didn't have to skirt around our feelings all the time."

Chuck can hardly believe what he's hearing. He lets out an incredulous laugh, causing her smile to widen. "So what's that mean for us?" he asks, running his thumbs over the back of her hand.

She shrugs, satisfied to simply hold his hand and sit next to him for the time being. "I guess," she laughs, "I guess you should ask me out on a proper date."

Leaning towards her, he says, "Maybe we can start that whole official boyfriend/girlfriend thing tomorrow. But for right now, why don't we skip right to the goodnight kiss?"

Sarah closes her eyes and reaches a hand up to cup his face, murmuring, "Mmm . . . Fine by me, as long as it doesn't actually mean goodnight."

He grins. "Not a chance."

**You shouldn't kiss me like this  
Unless you mean it like that  
Cause I'll just close my eyes  
And I won't know where I'm at  
We'll get lost on this dance floor  
Spinnin' around  
And around  
And around  
And around**

Chuck wakes with a start, fighting the abrupt, awful feeling that the previous night may have been a dream, or even worse – a lie.

But he doesn't have to worry. She's right there beside him, one lazy arm draped over his chest. When she sees that he's awake, she drawls sleepily, "'Morning, lover."

He chuckles at his unexpected new title. He greets her with a small kiss and then stretches, letting out a sigh of contentment. "Ahh, good morning."

"Happy fifth of July," she says with a languid smile on her face, her fingers lingering over his chin.

"Hmm . . . ," he murmurs, powerless to resist the happiness in her gaze. "I think the national holiday was yesterday."

"Nope," she pronounces confidently, sliding upwards to hover directly over him and give him another kiss. "In my opinion, any day I wake up next to you is better than a national holiday."

**They're all watchin' us now  
They think we're falling in love  
They'd never believe we're just friends  
When you kiss me like this  
I think you mean it like that  
If you do, baby, kiss me again  
Kiss me again**

Chuck pulls his undershirt over his head, feeling a burst of pleasure in the warmth of the cotton as it slides over his skin. He straightens it out and grabs a white button-down from his closet just as Sarah enters the bedroom, toweling her hair dry. He smiles at the absurd sight of her Weinerlicious skirt bouncing in the morning light.

"You almost ready?" he asks, glancing down to button his shirt.

She groans and flips her hair to one side to dry it. "Mm-hmm. I just need to dry my hair."

Nodding, he clasps the last button of his work shirt. Straightening up, Sarah drops the towel she's holding and moves across the room. She wraps an arm around Chuck's waist and rests her head on his shoulder. Chuck pauses, content in her presence.

She lets out a low, frustrated growl. "Do we have to go to work today?" she murmurs, her breath tickling his arm.

He chuckles and turns to smile at her. "I suppose not. But how else am I going to earn money to take you out on nice dates?"

She returns his smile, lifting herself on her toes to give him a peck on the lips. "That's a pathetic excuse, and you know it."

He laughs again. "I promise to make it up to you sometime soon. We'll take the day off and just go for a drive."

"Good," she says, pulling away from him and taking the tie from off his dresser. She pops his collar, drapes the tie around it, and begins looping the tie.

Chuck watches her, his eyes narrowed, admiration playing across his features. She knots the tie tightly, patting it flat against his chest.

"There," she pronounces, "You look suitably nerdy."

He jokes, "I didn't know I needed help with that, but thanks."

Laughing, she turns to move away. He catches her around the waist, and she looks at him in surprise, her amusement fading. He inclines his head toward her, and the flush that creeps into her cheeks doesn't escape his notice.

"Can I ask you a question?" he asks, his voice low and suddenly serious.

She swallows, her gaze shy.

"Why now?" he inquires softly. "Why only yesterday? After all this time . . ."

Sighing heavily, she reaches a hand up to his neck and says, "Chuck . . ." Her eyes search his, and the intensity in them makes him second guess his question. "When my sister and I were in high school and college, my mom would tell us the same thing every time we would bring a boyfriend home, a kind of test. When we weren't quite sure how we felt about a new guy, she'd tell us to take him somewhere loud – a rock concert or a fireworks show."

She pauses and looks at him expectantly. When she sees that he doesn't quite know what to say, she continues. "The test was a kiss. If his kiss made my heart pound so loudly that it drowned out the concert, or the fireworks, or whatever noise surrounded us, he was worth sticking with."

Chuck releases his breath slowly, taking in the meaning of her confession.

She whispers, "I couldn't let those fireworks last night pass us by without knowing."

He gives her a soft smile. He really wants to ask her how many guys she tested, but bites back the question and asks another in its place. "And did I pass the test?"

Leaning up, she kisses him, a lingering kiss that tells him everything he needs to know. She breaks away, leans her forehead against his, and says with a smile, "With flying colors."


	18. Everyone Loves to Love a Lie

Song: "Everyone Loves to Love a Lie," by Howie Day.

Warning: This is not Shipper Certified!

A/N: I'm dedicating this chapter to my lovely friends over at TwoP, especially BillatWork, whom I hope finds _something _to like in this chapter. Also, I based the character of Mark, lookswise, on Nicholas D'Agosto, who plays West on "Heroes."

* * *

**She put her shoulder down into the rain  
She doesn't know how she's gonna explain  
The way it's always been it will probably be again  
Cause everyone loves to love a lie **

Sarah arrives in the courtyard of the Bartowskis' apartment complex. Her footsteps clatter over the cobblestones, the sound intermingled with that of the raindrops. She hugs her arms around her waist, trying to block the feeling of intense cold that's settled in the pit of her stomach. But the rain continues to pound, and the wind continues to blow, and she continues to stand outside.

She can't face him. Not right now.

They haven't had a mission in weeks, and the dry spell has her going crazy. A recent, not-so-subtle rebuke from Graham has kept her from confiding in Chuck, so, in between her mindless shifts at the godforsaken Weinerlicious, she's been spending her time at the gym. The only problem is that working out, far from releasing the tension she feels, merely makes her more tightly-wound. And every time she looks at Chuck, she feels as if she's about to break from the strain their relationship is currently withholding.

She sighs, letting the rain soak through her clothes. At this point, she no longer cares. She hasn't cared about a lot of things for a while now. Absently, she fishes a coin out of her pocket and tosses it into the fountain, wishing silently that a mission will come along to provide a distraction for her.

She walks past the fountain and towards the apartment, taking care that her footsteps are not loud enough to be heard over the storm. Alerting Chuck to her presence would only cause more trouble. She shouldn't even be here in the first place. She passes a hand over her forehead and wipes the water out of her eyes. Goosebumps have sprung up on her arms, but she ignores them.

Sarah's been in dilemmas before. Lots of them. And she's always gotten out. But her choices seem so very limited in this situation. She's established that her relationship with Chuck can't go past friendship, so any more contact with him than is entirely necessary for the cover is out of the question. But trying to avoid him hasn't been noticeably successful either. It's simply put both of them, even Casey, into a funk.

Standing in front of Chuck's door, thoughts of Bryce creep into her mind. If she were truthful with herself, she'd admit that joining him undercover is the best option for her. It'd get her away from Chuck, the root of her problems, the reason she can't concentrate on her job. But if she can admit that partnering with Bryce would end her problems and put her back on the agent fast-track, she can also admit that leaving Chuck would devastate her.

No closer to a decision, Sarah takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly, listening to the raindrops splattering onto the courtyard.

She has to find a distraction, something that will get her mind off Chuck's remarkably inviting embrace and his deep, perceptive eyes.

**Can't wait for the rain to stop falling  
Such a victim of circumstance  
On the edge and she thinks of running  
Shattering all their plans  
Late again and he won't stop calling  
Such a victim of their romance  
Struck down by a strange cold addiction  
He never had a chance **

Sarah sits at a shadowy table in the corner, swirling her Mai Tai apathetically. Her trained ears can hear the rain lashing against the walls of the building even above the din of the bar crowd.

"I'm sorry, miss. Are you unsatisfied with your drink?"

She tilts her head up to see a young waiter in a black vest and bowtie looking at her, anxious to please. His dark hair is long enough to fall over his forehead, making him look even younger than he already seems. She can tell that he's nervous at her silence. He offers her a shy smile, and she decides that he's cute.

"It's fine," she says, her voice so low that he has to incline his head to hear her.

"You haven't touched it," he protests. "Would you like me to get you something else perhaps?"

To appease him, she takes a sip of the drink. She had ordered it thoughtlessly, and it was only after it appeared on her table that she realized it was Chuck's favorite drink. She'd never even tasted one until one of Ellie and Devon's parties a few weeks ago. "It's great. I just wanted to savor it, that's all."

The young man nods, giving her another smile, more confident this time. "Well, if you need anything else, let me know."

"I'll do that . . ." She lets the sentence hang, hoping he picks up that she's digging for his name.

"Mark."

She repeats, "Mark." It has a nice ring to it, but then she realizes that it's very similar to a name she's trying to avoid tonight.

"Sarah," she breathes.

"Well," Mark says, "It's very nice to meet you, Sarah."

"You, too."

Mark offers her one last nod and backs away, still smiling. She lets her eyes follow him across the room, satisfied that he throws another furtive glance her way when he reaches the bar. She watches him as he talks to a customer and mixes a drink. If he's old enough to be a bartender, he can't be that young. Right?

She sighs, and is startled out of her thoughts by her cell phone. It vibrates loudly against the table, almost falling off the edge. She doesn't even have to glance down to know who it is. She's been ignoring his phone calls for hours now. But when she gets home, she'll listen to all his voice mails, her heart breaking a little more with each one.

It's a ritual they've taken to during the past few weeks. And she has no intention of breaking that ritual tonight. So she presses the ignore button on her phone, and, sure enough, an alert appears on the screen a moment later to notify her of a new message. She ignores that, too, and turns back to her drink, taking another sip.

A new part of the ritual is standing him up. She had thought it would be easy, but here she is, needing to flirt with and focus on other guys in order to get through it. It doesn't help that he won't stop calling. Reaching the end of her short fuse, she shuts the cell phone off, her eyes as dark as its screen.

She takes another sip of the Mai Tai. Disregarding the thoughts bubbling to her mind as the liquid slides down her throat, she lets her eyes roam about the room. She passes instinctively over the couples. There are a few groups of raucous men, but she doesn't have the patience for dealing with guys like that tonight. So she continues to search the room, and her gaze alights upon a solitary gentleman, his expression lonely. He looks to be a few years older than she, and he's around the bend of and on the far end of the bar, well away from Mark.

She studies him for a while, taking in his loose but neat clothing and his shortly clipped, light brown hair that shows the slightest gray. Even from across the room she can see the light band around his finger where he must have worn a ring. Her heart stops for a moment at this revelation. A divorcé she could deal with; a widower she could not. The only way to find out, though, was to strike up a conversation with him.

**She'll need a miracle  
To keep her feet down on the ground  
She'll need a miracle  
If she's ever to be found  
And I swear it won't be long  
Cause everyone loves to love a lie **

Finishing off her Mai Tai, she rises from her chair and saunters over to the bar. Leaving a chair between her and her mystery man, she sits down gracefully. The corner of her mouth quirks upward as she notices him watching her. She's almost disappointed in the lack of challenge he'll offer.

Even without speaking to him, she can tell this guy is wrong for her. But she's so weak right now that she doesn't really give a damn whom she spends her time with as long as he gets her mind off of Chuck. A bartender – not Mark – smiles at her and asks what she wants.

The man next to her steps in. "This one's on me," he says with a wink and turns to the bartender. "Bring the lady a Bahama Mama."

Wow, cocky much?

The bartender looks at her for confirmation, and she gives him a slight nod.

The man shoots her what he probably thinks is a charming smile. "I hope that wasn't too forward. But I'm very good at picking drinks for people."

Giving him a flirtatious smile, she says, "I hope I'm not that easy to read."

He turns on his stool and leans his elbow on the counter. "Oh, you're a veritable enigma."

The bartender places the mixed drink before her, saving her the trouble of answering. To be honest, she hardly tastes it, her mind is so preoccupied.

"Good?" the man asks.

"Mmm," she answers noncommittally, raising her eyebrows.

He takes it as a positive sign. "I told you," he laughs. "I'm Jeremy, by the way."

She takes his proffered hand. "Sarah."

"That's a pretty name. It suits you." He pauses, his gaze narrowing. "So what's a woman like yourself doing all alone tonight?"

Sarah takes a sip of her drink, savoring the silence. A wistful smile appears on her face as she answers, "Just . . . forgetting the world for a few hours."

He leans forward and whispers, "Perhaps I can help with that."

She turns to look at him. For the first time, she gets a good look at his face. His eyes are a gorgeous, deep green color. Unexpectedly, they remind her of Bryce. The reminder is painful, and she has to take another sip of her drink to collect herself. Swallowing, she recovers her composure and nods.

His grin widens to the point of being lecherous. "Why don't we start with a dance?"

Jeremy holds out his hand, and she takes it, lithely rising from her stool.

The next few hours go by in a blur, and she loses track of the number of drinks and dances. She does know, however, that Jeremy consumes a good deal more alcohol than she does. Shortly after one o'clock in the morning, they're still on the dance floor.

He leers at her. "What do you say we go back to my place?" he asks, his words uneven.

As far gone as she is, she can still tell that this guy is bad news. She shakes her head. "Maybe some other time." Hoping to not offend, she plasters a smile on her face and continues bouncing to the music.

"Aww, come on, baby!" he pleads, drawing her closer. "I promise to show you a good time – even better than we're having now."

She fights the urge to roll her eyes. But before she can get a second chance to protest, she feels a firm grip separating her from Jeremy.

"I'm sorry, sir. But I believe the lady said 'no.'"

She looks up gratefully, surprised to see Mark standing between her and her very drunken dance partner.

"Will you just get out of my way? This is none of your business," Jeremy drawls menacingly.

Mark draws himself up to his full height, which Sarah has to admit isn't extremely impressive. But still, the happiness on her face is genuine this time.

Mark ignores Jeremy and turns to her, a truly charming smile on his face. He leans toward her conspiratorially. "My shift just ended. You need a ride home?"

Suddenly feeling a lot flirtier than she had with Jeremy, she takes his hand and answers, "Yours or mine?"

**By the glow of a red light flashing  
She's a vision of poetry  
Not sure just where she's crashing  
Or who she's supposed to be  
Doesn't know if its him she's feeling  
Doesn't know if it's someone else  
Round the bend there's a wrong turn coming  
She's putting it on herself **

Sarah follows Mark into the parking lot, letting her fingers grasp his lightly. A bit unsteady on her feet, his hold on her hand is perhaps the only thing that's keeping her upright at the moment.

For some reason, she expects him to own a clunker of a car, so when he stops to unlock a brand new, cherry apple red Pontiac G6 convertible, her jaw drops. Not an immodest car, but certainly not a lemon either. He opens the passenger's side door for her and turns to wave her inside.

Seeing the look on her face, he chuckles, "Bartending's not my only job."

She breaks into a smile and slides into the seat, closing her eyes and breathing in that new car smell. Mark jogs around to the driver's side and hops in. With a deep breath, he turns the key and rolls the top down. As he picks up speed, the wind whips through her hair. The cool night air is a relief against her flushed face, and she relaxes, leaning her head back against the seat.

Mark's a quiet guy, and she decides that she likes that about him. He doesn't feel the need to burden the night with any unnecessary conversation.

Cruising to a stop at a red light, he glances over at her. She gives him an encouraging smile, and he reaches a hand toward her shoulder, his fingers caressing the silky maroon fabric of her dress. She tries not to think about the first time she wore this dress, but flashes of that night invade her mind.

A museum opening. Chuck's tuxedo. A dark alcove. A high floating chandelier. A full orchestra and a waltz.

Mark smiles at her softly, and his smile is enchanting – not so very different from the one she's running from tonight. She takes a deep breath, pushing away those thoughts. The green glow from the traffic light bounces onto his face, and he turns back to the road. She feels strangely empty.

To fill the emptiness, she inquires, "So how old are you anyways?"

He chuckles. "25."

She looks at him closely, the corner of her mouth twisting upwards.

"Okay," he amends, "25 in October."

She laughs, and they lapse into silence again.

He lets a few minutes go by before he speaks again. "Can I ask you something?" His voice is soft, like it's been all night, and she decides that she likes his timid mannerisms, too.

Despite the fact that she knows she probably won't be able to divulge any information, she nods and murmurs her 'yes.'

She stares at his hand, resting on the steering wheel once again. He swallows audibly and keeps his eyes firmly on the road.

"Why me?" he asks quietly.

She tilts her head, turning her gaze to his face. But he won't look at her.

"You're so beautiful," he clarifies. "You could have had any guy in that bar. So why me?"

Resting the side of her head against the seat, she responds simply, "I like your bowtie."

Mark smiles, and they drive in silence again. She is content to watch him the rest of the drive. The ride isn't long, though, and shortly afterwards he pulls smoothly into a parking space on the side of the street. He quickly climbs out of the car, walks around to her side, and opens her door. She takes the hand he offers to assist her. Underestimating just how tipsy she really is, she stands up too quickly, her mind reels, and she falls onto his chest. He shoots her an embarrassed smile, but supports her nonetheless.

"Whoopsidaisy," he laughs lightly, taking her arm to guide her up the stairs.

After a few shaky steps, her vision clears and her walking becomes noticeably straighter. Being so close to him, she can smell him distinctly, detecting a unique blend of Irish Spring soap and cinnamon spice. She inhales deeply, liking the scent. Once in the house, he turns on the light and is immediately accosted by an energetic golden lab.

"Down, Chewie! Down!" Mark says, motioning the dog away from Sarah.

She pauses, struck by the name. "Chewie?" she questions. "As in _Star Wars_?"

He chuckles. "Yeah. Are you a fan?"

She hesitates before responding, "A friend of mine is a sci-fi nerd and has made it a goal to introduce me to it."

"Friends don't let friends not watch _Star Wars_," he says with a smile and leads the dog into the kitchen by his collar. She follows, trailing her hand along the hallway wall. He tosses his keys into a bowl on the counter, releases Chewie, and unbuttons his vest. The dog, much calmer, moves to sniff her knees, and she stoops to pet him. From where she's standing, she can tilt her head and see a framed and signed _2001: A Space Odyssey_ poster on the living room wall. She smiles, realizing she's stepped into a richer version of Chuck's place.

"So," she begins and he turns to give her his full attention, "If you're not a bartender, what are you?"

He shrugs. "Maybe I'm a guy just trying to get by."

"This," she gestures to the kitchen surrounding them, which she now can see is elaborately designed, "is not simply getting by."

He laughs, leaning on the kitchen table.

"Is it the mob or drugs?" she teases. "Because I'm not sure which is more forgivable at this point."

Taking her by the hand with another of his smiles, he leads her into the living room. The dog whimpers as they leave, but follows them through the archway. Even while focusing on him, she gets glimpses of his extensive DVD collection and a few more movie posters. He guides her to the couch and sits a respectable distance away, still holding her hand. Chewie settles his head on Mark's knee.

"You really don't know?" he questions, glancing at her awkwardly.

She shakes her head; he sighs.

"My full name's Marcus Alan Hale. At the bar I just go by Mark Alan."

He looks at her expectantly, and her foggy mind struggles to recall where she's heard that name before.

"Marcus Hale," she repeats in a murmur, and it hits her. A month or so ago, she had overheard a conversation between Morgan and Chuck about a science fiction novel written by a guy named Marcus Hale.

She shakes her head again, this time in disbelief. "No," she says quietly. He doesn't respond, merely looks at her intently. "The author?"

He nods, his eyes heavy.

Damn. The guy was practically Chuck's idol. Mark was everything in the sci-fi literary world that Chuck wanted to be in the gaming world. She can feel the blood pumping in her veins, her heart racing. Leaning towards him, she lays a hand against his chest and feels him tense beneath her touch.

"You don't care?" he breathes.

"You're just Mark – handsome, sweet Mark whom I met at a bar a few hours ago."

"Why complicate things, right?"

His lips quirk into a smile, drawing her closer. She's missed that smile. She feels that smile beneath her own as she kisses him, hesitantly at first. His lips are inviting and as soft as his voice. She wraps an arm around his shoulders, twirling her fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck.

He breaks off the kiss gently, but she can feel his heart pulsating beneath her hand.

"You're drunk," he says quietly without opening his eyes, and she realizes that maybe neither of them knew why they came here.

She whispers, her lips brushing his earlobe, "Not on alcohol."

**She'll need a miracle  
Just to keep her feet down on the ground  
She'll need a miracle  
If she's ever to be found  
And I swear it won't be long  
Cause everyone loves to love a lie **

Sarah jerks to consciousness. She shoots straight up in bed, giving her eyes a few seconds to adjust to the dark room before taking in her surroundings. Pulling the sheet up close to her bare chest, she glances at the lanky frame stretched out beside her. Her companion's face is turned away from her, buried in the pillow, one arm stretched out over his head.

Reaching a hand out to stroke his dark locks, she has the fleeting notion that it's Chuck. But the lack of curls against her fingertips is the tell-tale sign.

Her breath hitches in her throat as he stirs. Quickly, she takes back her hand and swings her feet off her side of the bed. She pauses as she feels him move.

"Where are you going?" His voice is sleepy, confused.

"Shh," she urges in a whisper, turning her head to the side. "I'm just getting a glass of water. Go back to sleep."

He starts to rise. "Here. Let me get it for you."

"That's all right," she tells him. "I'll get it. But do you have a t-shirt I could wear?"

"Suuuuure," he says through a yawn. "Second drawer." He points to the dresser beneath the window with one hand and rubs his eyes with the other.

Gratefully, she opens it and pulls out the first t-shirt she comes across. She darts quickly out of the bedroom, her feet shuffling noiselessly over the carpet. In the kitchen, she switches on a light. Chewie stirs on his pillow in the corner, but the light isn't enough to wake him. It is enough, however, for her to get a glimpse of the shirt she's wearing. Emblazoned across the chest are the words: "I'm a N3RD." She'd laugh if it didn't remind her so much of another man.

Instead, she grabs a glass from a cabinet, fills it, and drains the water in six gulps. She refills it and gets a second glass, carrying them both back upstairs.

Returning to the bedroom, she finds him leaning against the headboard.

He gives her an adorable half-smile. "Everything all right?"

"Yep," she assures him as she hands him a glass. "I was just thirsty, that's all. I thought you might be, too."

"Well, thanks very much." He takes a few swigs of water and sets the glass on the bedside table.

They settle back under the covers, and she twists onto her side, away from him. His fingers trace a torturous line down her arm. Closing her eyes, she's prepared to ignore all the feelings that rush through her at his touch. But she isn't prepared for the coldness she feels when he moves away.

The silence of the room presses in on her unbearably.

"Mark?" she whispers, the sound reverberating throughout the still room.

"Mmm?" he murmurs, and she can hear the comforting sound of rustling bed sheets.

"Will you do me a favor?" She turns around to find him propped up on his elbow, staring at her attentively.

"Anything."

"Hold me?" Her voice cracks as she asks it.

Embarrassed, she looks down. Feeling his hand on her chin, lifting her head up, she looks at him and is calmed by his smile. He nods, gathering her into his strong arms.

She scoots closer to him, turning to lean her back against his chest. He wraps his arms around her stomach, letting her lean her head in the crook near his neck. She reaches up one hand to rest on his bicep, her fingertips running over the smooth, defined muscle of his upper arm.

Sitting in his warm embrace, Sarah can't help but compare it to another embrace for which she yearns. She lets one tear escape her eye, but composes herself before that one tear becomes a deluge.

"I'm sorry," she tells him softly.

"For what?"

She can hear the smile in his question. "For being such an emotional train wreck."

He sighs. "I guess that makes two of us."

Despite the situation, she chuckles. "Good thing we found each other."

"Yeah," he agrees with a low laugh. "Just look at this gorgeous mess we've made."

A few moments pass in comfortable silence before she whispers, "Can I ask you a question?" repeating his words from earlier that night.

He nods, murmuring, "Of course."

Even after having permission, she pauses, unsure of how to pose her question. He waits patiently, and she finally asks, "You're such a well-respected author, so why do you act . . ." She trails off, looking through the slits of the blind on the window at the city lights. She remembers Chuck and Morgan saying what a private guy he was.

"So wimpy?" he finishes for her.

"Well, just like you have no confidence in yourself," she amends, looking up at him.

He lets out a sigh and shifts into a more comfortable position.

Misinterpreting his reaction, she apologizes. "I'm sorry. You don't have to answer that."

"No, no, no," he says softly. "It's a valid question." He pauses again. "Actually, my first novel came out while I was still in college."

Sarah resists the urge to comment. Even to a CIA agent, that's impressive.

He continues, "I was never really . . . well-known around school. I was okay with that, because I'm pretty shy. But then after the book came out, everyone suddenly wanted to be my friend. I didn't know how to handle all the attention. So I kind of withdrew into my own little shell. I never knew who wanted to know me for me and who just wanted to say they were friends with Marcus Hale the author."

She wants to tell him how sad she is for him, but she knows that he doesn't want her sympathy. She lets a moment go by before saying, "That sounds lonely."

He leans to the side, trying to get a better look at her face. "You seem like you know quite a bit about being lonely yourself."

She hesitates before looking at him and saying, "It's my job." She pauses, struggling with how to explain it without giving too much away. "It doesn't allow me to get close to people very often. And then all of a sudden, there was this guy who wanted to get to know me." She looks away, nervous, but he lifts a hand to her chin again and gently turns her face back towards his. Even in the dim light of the bedroom, the trust in his eyes encourages her. "He's made it quite clear how he feels about me. And . . . no one's ever made me question the sacrifice I had made for my job."

"He loves you?" he asks softly.

Swallowing, she nods.

He smiles, his eyes sparkling. "Seems pretty simple to me."

"You don't understand," she protests, not wanting to think that she's afraid. "I can't get involved with him. We work together, and the company considers him . . . expendable. We both are, in fact."

Mark purses his lips. He murmurs thoughtfully, "People do say that love conquers everything."

She scoffs. "People are fools."

He doesn't answer, but disengages one arm from his hold on her torso in order to stroke her hair. His touch is soothing, and she finds herself calming down.

"I didn't mean that," she apologizes. "I just –"

"Shhh," he whispers. "It's all right. Why don't you sleep on it?"

Nodding, she stretches out next to him. He questions her wordlessly, and she moves close enough for him to wrap an arm around her, burying her head in his shoulder.

He gives her a squeeze. "'Night, Sarah."

"Goodnight, Mark," she replies sadly. Before she closes her eyes, she tilts her neck and places a kiss on his jaw. Settling back against him, she fights a thousand conflicting emotions raging inside of her. Right now, she needs sleep.

**She'll go where she wants to go  
Where she wants to go  
Where she wants to go **

Sarah wakes up pillowed on Mark's chest. He's already awake, his fingers lightly drifting back and forth across her shoulder. She looks up at him to see his smile shining in the morning light.

"Hi," he greets softly.

"Hey," she replies with a half-smile, disengaging herself from his embrace and sitting up.

He climbs out of bed, rifles through a drawer, and pulls on a pair of gym shorts. "I thought I could make you some breakfast." He turns around and smiles, but seeing her look, adds more uncertainly, "Maybe."

She sighs, getting out of bed. "Mark, I don't know. It's late already, and I have to get back."

He looks away, but his next words hold no accusation. "Back to him."

"You don't know anything about me, Mark," she warns, her voice low but deadly.

He turns away to grab a pair of sweatpants from his dresser and hands them to her. She takes them, but makes no move to put them on. When he looks at her, his gaze is unwavering.

He says simply, "You don't hide as much as you think you do, Sarah."

She looks down as she pulls on the sweatpants, grateful to have something to focus on besides him.

"So no breakfast, then?" he asks, trying to lighten the mood.

She closes her eyes and lets her head hang slightly. "Mark, I'm –"

"Hey, hey," he cuts her off, stepping closer to her. He cups her face with one hand and places the other on her shoulder. "No apologies, no goodbyes."

Even now, his smile and his soft voice captivate her. A single tear flows down her cheek, and she lets him hold her one last time.

**She'll need a miracle  
Just to keep her feet down on the ground  
She'll need a miracle  
If she's ever to be found  
And I swear it won't be long  
Cause everyone loves to love a lie **

Sarah stands on the same exact spot as 24 hours ago. She can't face Chuck, not any more than she could yesterday. She doesn't even know why she's here. She hugs her stomach and turns away, intending to talk to him tomorrow when she's calmer. But the front door opens behind her. She hears it, but keeps walking.

"Sarah?"

Sarah stops. It's Ellie. There's no way she can intentionally hurt Ellie. She closes her eyes and collects herself, then turns slowly to face her friend's accusing eyes.

Ellie's shoulders sag as she sees the blonde's careworn face. "We missed you last night," she says kindly. "Chuck said you weren't feeling too well. Are you feeling better today?"

Conflicting emotions wash over Sarah, and she hopes the confusion is enough to hide her disbelief. She's incredulous that Chuck would still cover for her after the way she's been acting, but that doesn't necessarily mean anything for their relationship. She takes a step toward the apartment. "Yeah, I'm better." she stammers, "I think I'm just a little . . ." She trails off, not knowing how to explain it.

"Stressed?" Ellie offers with a small smile.

"Things have been a little tense," Sarah agrees.

The young doctor moves forward and encloses her in a hug. It's timid at first, but Sarah soon grows comfortable in the sisterly embrace. "Hey," Ellie says softly, "all relationships go through rough patches. You'll be fine."

"I just," Sarah begins, her voice choked, "He's my best friend, and I feel like I can't talk to him anymore."

Ellie pulls back to look Sarah in the eye. "You could talk to him right now," she suggests, subtly turning her towards the doorway.

Sarah balks. "Right now?"

"Look," the older woman says firmly. "Whatever happened las – whatever's been going on between you two for the past month or so is not healthy. And you have to talk about it sometime. Better sooner than later." Her gaze is unyielding.

Sarah sighs. "All right. Is he in his room?"

Ellie nods, smiling sadly. She gives the blonde a much-needed push towards the apartment. Sarah musters up her courage and heads inside. She stops outside of Chuck's doorway, listening for any sounds of life. There's music playing, but it's low. And it sounds like he's alone.

Taking a deep breath, she knocks on the door.

"Go away," says Chuck irritably through the closed door.

Her eyes widen in shock. Of all the responses she had expected, that wasn't among them. She opens the door a crack and peers into the room. He's stretched out on his bed, reading _2001: A Space Odyssey_. The uncanny reminder makes her blush with shame.

"Chuck, please. Can we just talk?" she asks, but he won't even look her in the eye.

He answers curtly, "We don't have anything to talk about."

She hesitates and looks down at her feet uncomfortably, but enters the room cautiously. "Chuck," she begins.

"No!" he cuts her off violently, getting off the bed and hovering menacingly over her. "No, Sarah. I'm not going to do this anymore. If you want to screw your life up, go right ahead! I'm not going to try to stop you anymore."

Sarah looks up, her face flushed with anger. So she had let her judgment lapse for one night. That certainly didn't qualify as screwing her life up. And since when is the best damn agent in the CIA a screw up?

Her voice is as lethal as her gaze as she says, "I'm warning you, Chuck."

"Yeah?" he asks arrogantly as he throws his book on the bed. "And what are you going to do? Stick me in an underground bunker for telling the truth?"

Sarah's not sure how she loses control. All she's sure of is the very real, very satisfying feeling of her palm connecting with Chuck's cheek.

Chuck, stunned, keeps his face turned away, one hand on his assaulted cheek. He sighs, and when he speaks, his voice is quiet and calm. "I understand that I have a bad habit of leaving too many voicemails." He chuckles mirthlessly. "I also understand that there are situations where people can't answer their phone for a few hours. So I'm okay with just leaving messages, Sarah. But when a person shuts their phone off deliberately," he breaks off, shaking his head, "that kinda says that they don't want to be found."

She waits, sensing that he has more to say.

"And I'm sick of it, Sarah," he whispers, looking her directly in the eye. "I'm sick of being your reason to run away."

She reaches out a hand for him, but he pulls away, shaking his head again. Her heart drops at the darkness in his eyes.

"I'm sorry, Chuck," she whispers, her voice cracking with emotion. "I'm so sorry." But even if he forgives her, will she ever be able to explain why she does the things she does?

"It's too late," he tells her, and she almost breaks. "Just leave." She hesitates, ready to call his bluff. But he pleads, "Please," and the heaviness in his voice distresses her enough that she nods. She doesn't want to cause him any more pain right now.

She backs away slowly, keeping her gaze trained on him. Putting one hand behind her, she feels for the door and stops in her tracks when she finds it. She's unwilling to leave without a promise to talk later.

As if sensing something's amiss, he picks up his head to see her still standing there. And then, in that way he has of always knowing her thoughts and soothing her concerns, he assures her, "We'll figure this out tomorrow, okay?"

She stares at him, her eyes grave.

"Tomorrow, all right?" he repeats, more forcefully this time.

She nods again, still not completely willing to go. But she turns around, goes through the doorway, and heads down the hallway. Her intention is to go back to her hotel and try talking to Chuck again tomorrow, but when she reaches the living room, she changes plans. She sits down on the couch.

He promised they would talk tomorrow. And if she has to sleep on this couch to keep him from breaking that promise, then so be it.

After all, she's done worse.

**Cause everyone loves to love a lie  
Cause everyone loves to love a lie  
Cause everyone loves to love a lie**

Almost a year later, Chuck asks Sarah to go with him and Morgan to a book signing. She's ready to agree, happy to spend more time with him now that they're getting along so well, until she hears the author's name. Morgan, in his excitement to get his hands on Marcus Hale's new book, fails to notice the change in Sarah's eyes, but she can't hide her discomfort from Chuck. He waits until his best friend has bounced out of earshot of the Nerd Herd desk to ask her what's wrong. She makes excuses until he stops trying to figure it out, though she knows he's not quite convinced.

That Saturday, he and Morgan come home with brand new, signed copies of Hale's latest novel, _Gorgeous Mess: The Story of how a Bowtie Met a Train Wreck and Saved the Galaxy_. Sarah pretends not to be affected. But later that evening, she sneaks into his room and finds the book lying on his bedside table. She sits on the bed, picks up the novel with shaking hands, and opens it. The third page is blank except for two simple words:

_For Sarah._  
**  
Cause everyone loves to love a lie  
Cause everyone loves to love a lie  
Cause everyone loves to love a lie**


	19. Once in a Lifetime

Song: "Once in a Lifetime," by Keith Urban.

A/N: In response to many people who asked, but most recently **HJB**, I wrote this story as a follow-up to Chapter 13, "Stupid Boy." However, it can also be read as a one-shot.

I like to think this has a double-dose of Charah to make up for "Stupid Boy" and also "Everyone Loves to Love a Lie." :)

* * *

**I can see it in your eyes  
And feel it in your touch  
I know that you're scared  
But you've never been this loved**

Chuck wanders aimlessly down the sandy shore. It's the day after his birthday, otherwise known as the anniversary of the day Sarah walked into his life. Now he's 31 years old, and he hasn't seen her in almost a year and a half. Still, she manages to affect him.

Every time Ellie or Morgan introduces him to a girl, hoping to lift him out of his perpetual funk, he manages to find a fault in them, however miniscule – the way she moves her hand, the color of her eyebrows, her love of olives. It only took him a few blind dates to realize that Sarah had unconsciously become his standard.

And no woman could ever hold a candle to Sarah Walker.

So Chuck Bartowski celebrates his first full day of being 31 by shuffling slowly through the sand, wallowing in pity. It's not exactly the place they met, but it's close enough. They had spent a lot of time here during their relationship – both the fake stage and the real stage. Somehow, he feels close to her when he walks down the shore here. Perhaps she's on a beach a few thousand miles away thinking of him.

Perhaps . . .

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees a flash of blonde hair a ways down the beach. He turns his head, his breath catching in his throat, and he fervently hopes he isn't deceiving himself.

It's happened so often in the fifteen months since she's been gone. Blonde hair there, someone calling the name "Sarah" here. He hadn't realized until he pushed her away how thoroughly she permeated his life. Every aspect of his life holds reminders of her, and there's no where he can go to outrun it, to outrun himself.

Squinting into the afternoon sun, he picks up his pace, carelessly dodging fellow beachgoers. The blonde is walking determinedly in his direction. But that could mean nothing. The beach is crowded. So he takes a chance, risking his already broken heart.

"Sarah!" he shouts, cupping his hands around his mouth so his voice carries farther.

The woman lifts her head, looking directly at him. If he needed another shred of evidence to convince himself, that would have been it. All he sees is her, and the rest of the world dissolves. Chuck takes off down the beach, sending sand flying behind him.

Infuriatingly, she makes no move to get to him more quickly, only smiles. The smile – that smile he's been dreaming of for fifteen months – makes him more resolute, and he sprints faster, ignoring the stitch that's forming in his side. He reaches her at last and doubles over, clutching his side.

She laughs, and the sound washes over him like an anodyne. He feels her hand running up and down his back soothingly. Looking up at her, still not quite believing his eyes, he pants, "Sarah, what . . . what are you . . . doing . . ."

Mercifully she cuts him off. "Looking for you, of course."

"Oh, of course," he waves his hand dismissively, as if that were the most obvious answer in the world. Finally having caught his breath sufficiently, he straightens up.

Over a year without her look has left him unprepared for the depth of emotion in her gaze. He freezes, staggered by that look. She takes a tentative step closer to him and places her hand on his arm. He's acutely aware of his heart going wild, almost bursting out of his chest, and it has nothing to do with his recent run down the shoreline.

Sarah looks up at him, smiles, and asks saucily, "Aren't you going to kiss me already?"

Chuck barely has time to let out a delighted laugh before his lips are engaged in welcoming her back.

**It's a long shot, baby,  
I know it's true  
But if anyone can make it,  
I'm bettin' on me and you**

Chuck and Sarah leisurely approach his new place. Suddenly shy, he doesn't feel the need to say anything right now. He's merely enjoying the feeling of her fingers laced through his and the sight of her bashful smile. They reach the porch, where he fishes his key out of his pocket and unlocks the front door as Sarah admires the front of the house.

As soon as they're inside, Chuck can tell something's up. He never leaves the lights on, but every single light in the house glares at him. And there's the distinct sound of conversation coming from the kitchen. Sarah glances at him, her eyes narrowed and her shoulders tense. He strains his ears, and, upon recognizing the familiar voices of his sister and her husband, relaxes noticeably. He shoots her a smile, squeezes her hand, and they sneak down the hallway, stopping just outside the door. He holds a finger to his lips, and they press themselves flat against the wall. He holds up three fingers, then two, then one.

Together, they jump into the kitchen with a shout.

Chuck yells, "Boo!" and waves his arms in the air, pulling himself up to his full height. Sarah's entrance is not as loud, but it matches his in energy.

Ellie leaps out of her seat and lets out an alarmed, high-pitched scream. Devon, no less startled, stands speechlessly, holding his hand over his heart. He manages to recover enough to catch his frightened wife, however, who had jumped toward him in her shock.

Upon recognizing her brother, she exclaims, "Oh, my God, Chuck! You scared the sh – _Sarah_!" Her eyes fall upon the blonde, and she lets out another piercing scream, this one demonstrating her elation. Before Sarah can catch her breath, Ellie has her wrapped in a bear hug. "Oh, my God! It's so great to see you!"

"Ellie," Chuck says in an amused voice, "I think she'd like to regain her breathing functions now."

"Oh, hush, Chuck!" Sarah returns teasingly. "It's so nice to see you, too, Ellie."'

Ellie finally loosens the embrace, but still grasps Sarah's shoulders. Her eyes are wide with happiness. She inquires hopefully, "Does this mean what I think it means?"

Sarah glances at Chuck, her expression positively radiant with joy. Chuck walks over and slides an arm around her shoulders.

Ellie gasps. "It does, doesn't it?"

"Outstanding, bro," Devon pronounces, and the group erupts with laughter.

"Oh, you have so much to tell us!" Ellie continues.

"Yeah, I suppose so," Chuck consents, feigning indifference. He laughs, "But first you have to tell us what you're doing here!"

His sister blushes.

"That's my fault, Chuckster," Devon offers. "We were trying to get ready at the last minute for a birthday party for you. I couldn't do it last night because of work."

Chuck, who now notices the party preparations scattered around the kitchen, is so touched by their thoughtfulness that he doesn't know what to say. Sarah wraps an arm around his waist and places the other hand his chest, leaning into him. He accepts her closeness happily, grateful to have three such caring people in his life.

"Wow, Devon. That's really nice of you. Thank you. Thanks, sis."

Ellie smiles. "Anything for my brother." Then her expression turns serious and she says, "But hey, can I talk to you in private for a few minutes?"

Chuck's gaze flickers to Sarah, but she's pointedly not looking at him. He nods, disengages himself from her embrace, and follows his sister out of the kitchen.

**Just keep on moving into me  
I know you're gonna see  
The best is yet to come**

"Hey, Ellie?"

"Hmmm?"

"Why are we in the basement?" he asks cautiously. Cautiously, because when Ellie gets an idea in her head, she's not the kind of woman who likes to be deterred.

Ellie doesn't answer right away, just descends the last step with a bounce and heads towards a small pile of boxes in the corner. With a mighty huff, she blows off a year's worth of dust from the top of the first one.

"Do you remember which box has Mom's old stuff?" She turns around, and he looks at her blankly, shrugging his shoulders. "You're no use," she mutters. She resumes digging through the boxes and he starts looking through another pile across the room.

"What exactly are we looking for?" he asks, curious that she felt the need to drag him away from Sarah _right now_.

She replies cryptically, "You'll see."

Chuck continues searching through the boxes, convinced that his untrained eyes have already missed what his caring but possibly misguided sister is looking for.

A few minutes later, though, Ellie lets out a squeal of delight. Chuck whips around in surprise. She beams at him, obviously bursting to tell him something.

"I guess you've found what you're looking for," he says, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Mmm-hmm," she answers, a wide grin still adorning her face.

She waits, and he gives in first, asking, "And?"

She walks towards him and holds a hand in front of his face. His eyes fall on an old diamond ring with a gold band. The ring is understated, the diamond small but still sparkling after years of wear.

He looks up, meeting Ellie's expectant gaze. "Mom's engagement ring?"

She nods. "I know it's kind of weird because of how her relationship with Dad ended, but it was also Grandma's ring."

He laughs lightly as it takes the ring and twirls it between his fingers to watch the light bounce off of it. "A family heirloom."

"Yep," his sister agrees. "Do you think she'll like it?"

"I think she'll love it." He reaches out and gives her a one-armed hug, which she happily returns. "Just one question, though."

"Shoot."

"What makes you think I'll ask her to marry me?"

Ellie pulls away and smacks him on the shoulder. Hard.

He presses a hand to the injured spot and exclaims, "Ow! That hurt!"

"Serves you right, jerk," she chastises him, but she can't completely hide the smile forming on her face. "You better propose to her. You can't let her slip through your fingers again."

A smile tugs at his lips. He's 31 years old and she's still looking out for him. "Don't worry," he assures her. "I have no intention of letting that happen."

Ellie smile grudgingly. "Good. And I don't mean you have to propose today or tomorrow or even next year. But the two of you are amazing together. I really think you could make it."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," she nods.

"Me, too."

**And don't fear it now  
We're going all the way  
That sun is shining on a brand new day  
It's a long way down  
And it's a leap of faith  
But we're never giving up  
'Cause I know we've got a once in a lifetime love**

Chuck relaxes on the couch, gazing at Sarah, standing at the window and watching with a smile as his birthday guests leave. She gives a final wave to someone he can't see, probably a lingering Ellie, and turns around to face him. He can't take his eyes off her, and he'd be content to stare at her for the rest of his life.

She turns down the light of the lamp and approaches the couch slowly, reaching out her hands for him. He takes them, pulling her down on top of him. She falls happily into his lap, curling against his chest.

"Mmm," she says softly, leaning her head against his cheek. "That was fun, but I'm pretty tired."

He strokes a hand up and down her back. "I bet you've had a long day, coming all the way from . . . wherever you came from."

Chuckling, she looks up at him. "I guess we have a lot to catch up on, don't we?"

"I think that's an understatement."

"Well, for starters, I flew in from Washington."

"Washington?" he repeats. "So you were back at headquarters?" Off her affirmative nod, he continues, "And what exactly happens now?"

Taking a deep breath, she slides a hand up to his neck. "They set me up with my new cover."

Chuck feels like he's on pins as he waits for her to elaborate. He has no need to worry, though. The bright smile she gives him assuages all his insecurities.

"My official job is Assistant Softball Coach at UCLA," she tells him, and he can see the happy glint in her eye. During their brief relationship, he'd figured out her love for the sport, and he's pleased to see her so excited over the prospect of coaching. "But," she continues, "my unofficial job is as a recruiter and contact for the agency."

"So you didn't have to completely give up the CIA for me," he states, but the way he says it makes it more of a question.

"No, but I would have." She pulls back to look him directly in the eye. "In fact, that's the reason I went to D.C."

He shakes his head in disbelief.

"But they said they needed someone in the area," she says nonchalantly. "And I was happy to oblige."

He lets out his breath. "I'm glad you did. I wouldn't have been able to bear it if you gave up your whole life for me."

"Chuck," she says in a tone hovering between amusement in admonishment. Threading her fingers through his hair, she leans forward so that her mouth is close to his ear. "You _are_ my life," she assures him in a whisper.

Despite the well of hope that arises in him, he still feels a nagging regret. "Have I ever told you how sorry I was?" he asks desperately.

She nods, massaging his head lightly, and lets a moment go by before confessing, "Casey gave me your message."

His eyebrows shoot up. "He did? Good man," says Chuck softly. He remembers the day just a few months ago that he had asked Casey to give her an incoherent message. He hadn't thought it would ever get to her. He hadn't even been sure if Casey had understood what he was trying to say. Chuck isn't particularly religious, but he sends a small prayer up to whatever higher power might be looking down on them for John Casey, especially to keep him safe in his dangerous line of work.

Sarah agrees simply, "He is."

They spend a few moments in silence, merely enjoying each other's company. Chuck likes the feel of Sarah in his arms. She's starting to drift off, her head settled near his shoulder, when the words tumble out of his mouth.

"Hey, Sarah?" he asks quietly.

"Mmm?"

"How 'bout marrying me?"

Her eyes fly open, and she takes her head off his shoulder to get a better look at his face. Faced directly with her beauty in the dim light of the living room, he thinks he may have forgotten how to breathe.

"What did you say?" Her voice is low and cautious.

The question startles him out of his daze, and he gently lifts Sarah off his lap and sets her onto the couch cushion beside him. He slides down onto the floor and swivels to face her, making sure he's on the standard one knee. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out the old, unpolished ring Ellie had found for him. Grasping it between his thumb and forefinger, he holds it up between them.

Sarah covers her mouth in shock.

"I said," Chuck begins with a grin, "Will you, Sarah Walker, be willing to spend the rest of your life with me?"

All Sarah does is nod, smiling widely, a few loose tears streaming down her cheeks. She leans toward him, and he hugs his arms around her torso, trying to pull her as close as he can. This kiss is less hurried than the one on the beach, and it holds the promise of healthy, reciprocal relationship.

He breaks away, unable to keep the goofy grin off his face. It's still there even as a cloud passes over her face.

She says, "I do have one condition, though."

"Anything," he breathes immediately, and he knows he means it. If she asked him, he would never play a video game again, he would throw away every single _Star War_s-related item he owns, he would replace his carefully-crafted music collection with bagpipe and didgeridoo CDs. But luckily he knows she won't ask him to do any of that.

She wraps her arms around his neck and leans her forehead against his, closing her eyes. Her voice is quiet but steady when she tells him, "I want to take you to meet my family."

He didn't think it was possible for his grin to get any bigger.

**Everybody's looking  
For what we've found  
Some wait their whole life  
And it never comes around**

The flight to Virginia is relatively uneventful, but Chuck enjoys the car ride through the rolling green hills from Norfolk International to Sarah's family estate. His jaw drops when Sarah pulls the rental car into a gravel driveway that he estimates to be about 200 feet long and which leads to a redbrick, three-story colonial mansion. There's a turn-around near the front of the house, and Chuck figures Sarah's just gotten lost and is turning around.

But she cruises the car to a stop in front of the steps leading up to the porch, and Chuck turns his head to stare at her. Noticing his uncomfortable demeanor, she asks with a smile, "What?"

"Are you frakking kidding me? Did you forget to mention that your family owned half the state?"

She laughs. "Well, they don't own half the state. But they do own a honey business."

"Huh, I didn't know honey was so lucrative."

"Ever heard of Wharton Honey?"

"Oh, my God! That stuff is delicious!" he exclaims. His eyes widen in realization. "No way! You're an heiress to the Wharton Honey Empire?"

She leans across the car and cups his chin. "Have you gotten over the shock now?"

Pleased by her proximity, he simply nods.

"Good," she murmurs, placing a short kiss on his lips.

They exit the car, and Chuck latches on to Sarah's hand. Rather than approach the front door like he expects, she tugs on his hand to pull him around the side of the house. As they tread over the lush grass, his eyes wander over the elaborately designed lawn and gardens. His stomach does a little back-flip, and he has the distinct feeling that his face is a sickly yellow-green.

He swallows audibly as they walk away from the house and towards a smaller guest cottage. Off to the side, two people in white beekeeper suits are hovering around a single beehive.

Chuck asks, "Is that where they get all their honey?"

She chuckles. "Of course not. We have a few farms nearby and a factory a few miles away. That's just their personal hive."

"Oh, right." When they get close enough that Chuck can discern faces through the mesh of the beekeeping masks, he inquires, "Are you sure this is a good idea?"

Sarah stops walking and turns to face Chuck. She smiles reassuringly. "They'll love you. I promise."

Sighing, he leans his forehead against hers. His reply is cut off by a shout from across the yard.

"Sarah?" yells a female voice. Sarah jerks her head towards the speaker. "Sarah! That _is_ you!"

"'Sarah'?" Chuck asks in a whisper, taking her hand again. "They know you as 'Sarah'?"

They start walking towards the two beekeepers, and she whispers hastily, "The only thing I told you was that 'Sarah Walker' was not my real _full_ name."

"You're so sneaky," he tells her, grinning in admiration.

They greet the beekeepers, who thankfully have met them a good ways away from the hive. They remove their masks to reveal a late-middle-aged couple. The man looks to be about 60, with a shock of wild, gray hair and wire-framed glasses perched on his nose. The woman, a few years younger, still has natural colored blonde hair, and there are laugh lines around her eyes that Chuck finds endearing.

"Mom, Dad," Sarah greets happily, hugging them each in turn. "It's so good to see you again."

"It's been too long, dear," her mother says without a hint of rebuke.

Sarah steps back and looks at Chuck. "I'd like you to meet Chuck Bartowski . . ." She lets the sentence hang, waiting until they've exchanged pleasantries before dropping the bomb. "My fiancé."

Mr. Wharton, who is in the middle of shaking Chuck's hand, pauses and looks coldly at the younger man for a second before breaking into a warm smile and pulling him into a hug. "Welcome to the family, son!"

Chuck raises his eyebrows, but returns the embrace. "Thank you, sir. I'm honored."

"You know," Mrs. Wharton says kindly, "you're just in time for dinner."

And an hour or so later, Chuck finds himself having dinner with the whole family on the back patio. In addition to being overwhelmed by the sheer size and grandeur of the estate, the number of faces that have appeared at the dinner table – and their relation to Sarah – now daunt him even more. Perhaps he had been a little foolish in thinking he was only going to meet her parents.

It turns out that the whole family lives nearby, and apparently none of them was busy tonight. But Chuck has the sneaking suspicion that Sarah gave them a heads up that they were coming tonight. He can let that slide, though, since, luckily, she's surreptitiously managed to convince them not to give him the third degree quite yet. However, he's still faced with both of her parents, her four siblings, and their respective spouses and numerous offspring.

There are Sarah's two older brothers, Phillip and Edward. Phil is married to Bella, and they have three children. Martin is the oldest, followed by Lily and Mattie. Ed and his wife, Laura, have two kids, Annie and Ian. Jenny, Sarah's older sister, is married to Oliver. Their two sons are named Henry and Thomas. Her younger sister, Maggie is, thankfully, currently unattached and has no children that Chuck needs to remember.

Their family tree is big enough to make his head spin. Maybe he'll ask Sarah for a diagram. Picking at the remnants of his homemade apple pie à la mode, he feels lucky he hasn't forgotten anyone's name yet. He just hopes no one quizzes him on the kids' ages.

"So what do you do, Chuck?" asks Mrs. Wharton, whose name he's since found out is Evelyn.

He sets his fork down, careful to not let it clatter against his plate. "Uh, I'm in the software business."

"Really?" Phil's ears perk up. "What company?"

"Force Field Games." He says it uncertainly, because he's not sure how the Whartons will react to his profession and because Sarah just stepped into the kitchen a moment ago so she's not here to save him up if he slips.

"No way!" Oliver exclaims from across the table.

Laura chimes in, "We just got their new game, Tumble Ridge."

"Yeah? I was the head of the encoding team for that." Recalling the experience, he smiles. "That was a fun one." He snaps back to the present and asks curiously, "You guys are all gamers?"

Phil chuckles. "We dabble, I guess. You should talk to Maggie. She's hardcore."

"Really?" Chuck picks his head up, glad to find a conversation topic he's comfortable with. But Maggie is in the kitchen with Sarah. He glances at Mrs. Wharton for direction, and she gives him a sparkling smile and a nod. With a grateful smile of his own, he rises from the table and heads into the house, carrying his plate with the half-eaten pie.

The massive, maze-like house intimidates him, but he manages to not get severely lost. Within a few minutes, he hears the sound of a conversation going on and follows the direction of the voices.

Down the hallway from the kitchen, he hears Maggie ask Sarah, "Is this for real?"

Chuck stops in his tracks. He turns around, takes a step, then turns back to the kitchen. He does it again and finally freezes against the wall completely when Sarah answers, "We wouldn't be here if it weren't."

He doesn't feel right eavesdropping, but he's fixated, rooted to the floor.

"Hey, I'm sorry, sweetie," Maggie continues, and Chuck can picture Sarah giving her younger sister the momentary cold shoulder. "I just meant that he's not like the guys you always used to date."

"Yeah, and do you remember how those relationships always turned out? I'd say that's a good thing." Sarah's tone is softer, but he can hear that she's still upset.

"So you finally got your life turned around, huh? Took you long enough to figured out you were going after the wrong guys!"

Sarah responds softly, "It almost took me too long."

There's a break in the conversation which is filled by the clattering of dishes.

Maggie ventures, "Well, he seems like a great guy."

"He is, Maggie. He's amazing."

"I can't wait to get to know him as a brother-in-law." Maggie pauses before saying less seriously, "He seems a bit shy, though."

"Yeah," Sarah agrees with a chuckle. "He's a little socially awkward at first. He'll get more comfortable around everyone soon enough."

"Well, if you love him," Maggie tells her older sister with a sigh, "that's good enough for me. I couldn't part with you to a worthier fellow."

Sarah laughs, "If you're going to quote Jane Austen, at least quote her correctly." A sober pause immediately follows, and when she speaks again, her voice is soft, vulnerable. "I do love him."

Chuck's heart soars.

Sarah laughs softly, a sad tone ringing through the happiness. "Crazy, right?"

"No," Maggie assures her. "Romantic. And you've never been romantic."

"Shows how much he's changed my perspective, huh?" Sarah asks, wavering between timid and teasing.

Maggie pronounces confidently, "I like him."

"You do?" Sarah's voice is hopeful, eager to have her sister's approval.

"He's hot." Chuck stifles a laugh, but he's sure it won't be heard over the sisters' burst of laughter. Chuck also hears the distinct sound of a shoulder being smacked. "In a geeky kind of way," Maggie amends, choking on another laugh.

"Don't let him hear you call him a geek," Sarah warns playfully.

"What? He objects to labels? Was he teased a lot in high school?"

"No, he just prefers the term 'nerd.'"

Maggie jokes, "Oh, yeah, because there's such a distinction."

There's another fit of giggles as Chuck moves back down the hallway and approaches the kitchen again, this time clattering his fork against his plate as he goes.

When he enters the kitchen, the girls have composed themselves and are waiting for him. Maggie's leaning against the counter with her arms folded across her chest. He sets his plate down on the table and Sarah walks up to him, wrapping her arms around her neck.

"Hey, sweetie. We were just talking about you."

"Is _that_ why my ears were itching?" he asks humorously.

Sarah merely chuckles and gives him a peck on the lips. He wraps one arm around her waist, keeping his other hand near her hip. There's nothing he wants more right now than to kiss her properly, but he's acutely aware of her sister standing right there observing them. And he has this thing against PDA.

"Everything okay out there?" Sarah asks.

"Oh, yeah." He turns to Maggie, but still keeps an arm around Sarah. "I came in because I heard that you were the serious gamer of the family."

Sarah laughs. "And you just could not pass that up, could you?"

He shakes his head, mocking himself. "No, I could not. The games call, and I am compelled to answer."

Maggie answers with a chuckle, "Yep, that's me. You up for some friendly competition? A little _Call of Duty_? Halo perhaps? Maybe even some _Guitar Hero_?" Audaciously, she adds, "No matter what you pick, I'll kick your scrawny ass."

Chuck staggers, feigning hurt. He holds a hand over his chest. "Oh, oh, I am just wounded right now. My heart is actually in pain."

Sarah chimes in, "I don't know if that's such a wise thing to do, Mags. Chuck and his best friend, Morgan, are pretty much video game gods. They spend way more time playing games than grown men ever should," she teases, brushing back a few curls from Chuck's brow to make sure he knows that she's only kidding.

"Oh, now I'm only more intrigued. I can never back down from a challenge," Maggie assures them.

Chuck snorts. "You sound like Sarah."

Sarah pushes him in the shoulder, causing him to stumble.

"So, whaddaya say, Chuckieboy?" Maggie asks. "You ready for the bedlam that is a Wharton family video game night?" She waves her arms to emphasis the chaotic nature of the experience.

He grins. "You bet."

Maggie leaves the kitchen, followed closely by Chuck and Sarah, their hands linked. As they exit, he adds timidly, "But please don't call me 'Chuckieboy.'"

**So don't hold back now  
Just let go of all you've ever known  
You can put your hand in mine**

After three straight hours of video games, Chuck heads upstairs to find Sarah in their room, digging through the closet.

"Whatcha doin'?" he asks as he flops onto the bed face first.

"Looking for some stuff," comes her reply, the words muffled through the clothes various other items in the closet.

"What kind of stuff?" His face buried in the comforter, his voice is equally muffled.

She laughs. "You'll see."

Sure enough, he hears her emerge a moment later and lifts his head to see her carrying a blanket and a radio.

"Come on," she says, swatting at him with the folded blanket. "Up and at 'em, lazy butt."

He fends off her attack with a laugh and gets up. "Where are we going?"

"So many questions," she murmurs as she opens the window, tosses the blanket out, and climbs through with the radio in one hand.

Standing with his hands in his pocket, Chuck purses his lips, stunned. Did she really just crawl through the window? He shrugs and follows her.

He sticks his head through the window to get a better view of where he should put his feet, bracing himself with his arms against the frame. The roof is sloped, but the shingles seem to be fairly stable. Sarah is kneeling and spreading out the blanket. Cautiously, he sticks a foot out, testing the sturdiness of the surface. Once he decides the roof is not going to slip off underneath him, he takes a step out.

Sarah immediately looks up and reaches a hand out for him, saying, "Watch your step. This was one of my hideouts as a kid."

He laughs, picturing her as a kid hiding out on this roof. He takes her hand gratefully, steps over to her, and lies gingerly on the blanket. She takes a minute to set up the radio, tuning it to perfection, before she lies down beside him, curling into him.

"Wow," he sighs, "You can really see the stars out here."

"Yep. That's just one of the many reasons I love it here."

Chuck turns his face to look at her. "Are you going to regret living in L.A.? I mean, do you like it there?"

"Of course I like it. And I don't care where we live as long as I'm with you."

He nods thoughtfully, looking back at the stars.

"So how are you holding up?" Sarah asks him. "Are you surviving the endless questions?"

He murmurs a noise in the affirmative and falls silent.

She notices and nudges him. "What? You can tell me."

"It's just, they're so . . . so rich," his eyes bug out a bit as he says it, his mind barely wrapping around the concept that his soon-to-be-wife is going to inherit a fifth of the lucrative Wharton Honey Industry.

Sarah sighs, placing a hand on his chest and tracing various geometric shapes onto his shirt. "I'm sorry. I should have known this was going to bother you."

"No, no," he fumbles, his words coming slowly as he tries to put his thoughts in order. "It's not the fact that they _are_ rich. It's that I know I won't be able to give you the kind of life you're used to."

"Oh, Chuck," she whispers. "You know I don't care about that. After all, I've been living on my own for the past decade."

He huffs softly. "If you say so, but I'm not entirely comfortable with the idea of them paying for the entire wedding."

Sarah lifts herself up to look him in the eyes, propping herself up by an elbow. She runs her hand down his chest. "Chuck, look at it from their perspective. Their long lost daughter has returned after barely speaking to them for ten years, and they want to do something nice to fix their relationship. Paying for the wedding is well within their means, it would be a help to the young couple, and it would allow them to get married sooner, which is preferable to all parties. Plus, the gardens are a beautiful place to hold a wedding."

He looks at her, agreeing, "The gardens _are_ stunning." He takes a breath. "You really want to get married in three weeks?"

She smiles sweetly and leans her face close to his. "Chuck Bartowski, I am going to marry you no matter how hard you resist, so you better get used to the idea."

He picks his head up to give her a kiss. "It's not that, but we didn't really talk about how long we wanted to be engaged, and I want you to feel comfortable."

"Chuck!" she exclaims softly in an exasperated tone. "You need to stop worrying about me, okay? I gave you my heart a long time ago. Why don't you just take it and shut up about it?" She chuckles, sliding her arm around his waist.

He smiles. "It seems too good to be true."

"Well, it's true." She kisses him again. "So get used to it, bub."

Content in the moment, he doesn't respond as she lies down beside him again. He strokes his fingers lightly up and down her back, hearing her murmur softly.

They gaze at the stars in silence until Sarah says quietly, "Chuck?"

"Hmm?"

"I love you," she tells him, and he can hear the smile in her voice.

As nice as it was to hear her say it the first time, it's even better when she says it to his face.

"Yeah?" he chuckles.

"Yeah."

"I think I maybe love you, too," he says.

"You 'think?'" she asks, lifting her head to raise an eyebrow at him.

He laughs. "By that, I simply meant that I am madly in love with you and have been for quiet some time now."

"Yeah, that's better."

Sarah settles back against him. He likes lying here like this, their breathing in rhythm.

A moment later, she says, "Can I tell you something, Chuck?"

"Sure, anything."

"I want to tell you about the places I've been."

"Are you allowed to?" he asks, hoping that she won't care, because his curiosity, once piqued, is insatiable.

"I can't tell you about missions, but I can tell you about the countries. Believe it or not, I was even able to go sight-seeing in a few countries."

"Really? Tell me about your favorite place."

She smiles, burying her head sleepily into his shoulder. "Mmm . . . I've been so many places that it's hard to choose, but I'd have to say Hungary."

"Hungary?"

"Yeah, there was this small village called Adony. I happened upon it during their harvest festival. I've never heard more beautiful music."

He relaxes, quietly listening to her travel stories. Lying next to her and drinking in her soothing voice, Chuck feels like his world has finally fallen into place.

**And don't fear it now,  
We're going all the way.  
That sun is shining on a brand new day.  
It's a long way down  
And it's a leap of faith  
But we're never giving up  
'Cause I know we've got a once in a lifetime love**

Chuck stands on the balcony and looks out at the estate, bathed with the honey and rust colored leave changes of mid-October and bustling with last-minute wedding preparations. Most of the forty guests, mostly Sarah's family, are already seated despite the fact that there are still twenty minutes until the ceremony begins. He lets out a sigh, hopefully letting out all his emotions with it. He's determined to enjoy this day. He brushes some invisible lint off of his sleeve and walks down the steps into the garden. Morgan approaches from a path to his right.

"Hey, there, Chuckie," Morgan greets, his hands in his pockets nonchalantly. "You ready for the big day?"

Chuck grins. "You bet."

Morgan purses his lips. "Not yet you aren't." Chuck quirks an eyebrow at his gnome-like best friend. "Your cravat's crooked, buddy. Geeze! Do I have to do everything around here?"

Chuck laughs heartily as Morgan straightens his cravat with an expert eye. Morgan, along with Ellie, Devon, and Anna, flew into Virginia at the beginning of the week. Truthfully, he doesn't see how this day would have been possible without them. He had been completely overwhelmed when faced with the prospect of planning a wedding in three weeks.

But the day's finally arrived, and everything's perfect.

So far.

Chuck fervently hopes it stays that way.

"How do you even say that anyways?" Morgan continues. "_Cra_-vitt? Cra-_vatt_? Cra-_vaht_?"

Before Chuck can profess his ignorance, Ellie walks up out of a garden from a path on his left looking frazzled but elegant in her dark burgundy bridesmaid dress. The dress is strapless, but the day is sunny and exceedingly warm for October.

"Whoa, whoa," Chuck urges his sister with a smile, holding up his hands to stop her flight. "Slow down. Where are you going?"

"We have a bobby pin emergency!" Ellie exclaims, and the intensity behind the statement actually frightens him.

He puts his hands on her shoulders. "Okay, calm down. The ceremony doesn't start for another twenty minutes. Morgan and I will help you with this."

She smiles reluctantly at him and starts to agree, but Morgan interrupts her.

"Wait, duuuude." His eyes are wide, like a nocturnal animal caught in lights much too bright, and he's fishing around in his pockets. Opening his black suit jacket, he digs through the pockets inside.

"Morgan," Chuck warns, unsure of what to expect.

"Dude, I don't have the rings."

Ellie looks like she could murder Morgan at this moment. But Chuck doesn't really want blood stains on the garden path.

He takes a deep breath and prepares to hold back his sister. "All right, does that mean you just never put them in your pocket or that you lost them?" His jaw is clenched tightly, and the words come out stunted.

Morgan glances around the garden, thinking. "Oh! You know, I think I just never put them in my pocket to begin with."

Chuck lets out his breath, and his voice is much calmer when he says, "See? We're all good, Ellie. You and Morgan go do your bobby pin thing, and I will go take care of the rings. They're in the dressing room anyways."

Ellie shoots him a grateful glance before they part ways, Chuck jogging back into the house. After three weeks of staying there, he's finally found his way around, and he has no problem getting to the groomsmen's dressing room, one of the many guest bedrooms in the house.

The hallway is crowded, the majority of Sarah's immediate family running around in a flurry of activity. He scoots past Henry sitting patiently on the top of the steps with Annie, looking adorable in her flower girl dress. He lets out a breath as he makes it into the seemingly deserted groomsmen's room, relieved to have gotten out of the commotion, only to be startled by a man looming silently but menacingly in the corner.

Chuck jumps back with a yelp as the man steps out of his hiding place and takes off his sunglasses. Upon getting a better look, Chuck recognizes him.

"Casey!" he shouts happily, letting out a delighted laugh and holding out his arms. "I can't believe it! You got our message. Sarah will be thrilled!"

The NSA agent grunts and rebuffs Chuck's attempt at a hug, but can't hide the smile on his face. "It's about time you two kids got your act together."

Chuck's grin widens. "Thanks to you. I really owe you one, Case."

"If you stop trying to hug me, I'll consider it even." Nevertheless, he holds out his hand. Chuck shakes it, ecstatic that Casey showed up. "Now if you'll excuse me," the older man continues, "I have a wedding to attend." He steps toward the door, but stops and glances back. "See you at the reception."

Chuck shakes his head, almost not believing what just happened. But remembering the task at hand, he grabs the ring boxes sitting on the dresser and slips them into his pocket. He emerges from the room to find the hallway a little less crowded than when he had come. Despite there being less people, he almost runs straight into Jenny outside of the bridesmaids' room.

"Oh!" she exclaims.

"I'm so sorry," he says as he dodges out of the way.

"Don't worry about it," Jenny responds kindly. She smiles. "Are you a bundle of nerves yet?"

"I'm not really nervous," he tells her truthfully. "I just never thought someone could be this happy."

Jenny laughs and gestures toward the door that separates him from Sarah. "Want to talk to her?"

His expression becomes serious and he stutters, "Can, can I?"

She nods, opens the door, and pokes her head inside the room. "Hey, Sare? You've got a visitor."

There's a burst of unintelligible conversation from inside, and Jenny turns back to Chuck, leaving the door open a crack, and tells him with a smile, "She's behind the door."

Chuck nods, his heart suddenly racing. Jenny starts to head down the stairs, collecting Henry, Annie, and a few of the other kids on the way.

"No peeking!" she shouts, looking back from the first landing.

Chuck approaches the door cautiously, placing a hand lightly on the wooden surface.

"Chuck?" Sarah's soft, musical voice comes through the opening, instantly calming him.

"Yeah, I'm here," he breathes, his voice cracking.

She lets out a low laugh. "Feet still warm?"

"I've got two pairs of socks on," he responds, hoping she can hear the smile in his voice. "What about you? How are your feet feeling?"

"About as tropical as the equator."

"Good." He reaches out and sticks his hand around the edge of the door, smiling when he feels her fingers meet his own. "Hey, did Casey stop by and kiss the bride?"

"No, but Carina came in to congratulate me on snagging you."

He lets the 'snagging' comment go as he's more intrigued by who said it. "Really? Carina's here, too? This is going to be one interesting reception," he mumbles.

Sarah's laughter mingles with his. "Don't worry. I'll get Casey to keep an eye on her. But we had a nice chat, and I have a feeling she won't get too out of hand today."

"I'm glad," Chuck says, giving her fingers a squeeze.

"Chuck, you should probably go," Sarah tells him. "Maggie's giving me the evil eye."

He laughs again and releases her hand. "Okay, okay. I have to go hand off the rings to Morgan anyways."

"See you in a few," she says sweetly.

"Just don't make me wait too long," he jokes and heads down the stairs.

The sun outside is almost blinding, and he holds up an arm to shield his eyes. Morgan and Devon are already in place with the minister, hovering anxiously near the wooden archway covered in ivy and orange calla lilies. He ambles quickly down the pathway, nodding happily to Casey and Carina sitting inconspicuously in the back row. Once at the front, he hands the rings to Morgan for safekeeping. Morgan slips them into his pocket, patting his pants for good measure.

Looking toward the house, Chuck wipes his moist palms on the legs of his suit pants. Before he knows it, Devon gives him the nod and he moves to take his place. The string quartet begins to play Pachabel's _Canon in D_. Annie comes down the aisle, carrying a small wicker basket and scattering flower petals. Maggie comes next, followed by Ellie, the maid of honor.

And then he sees her.

He can't be sure, but he thinks his heart stops beating. She links arms with her father, looks towards the front, and gives him the biggest grin he's ever seen. And his heart restarts at the sight.

The ceremony goes by in a flash. The minister's words are just background noise to him because he's concentrating on her. All he sees is the gorgeous blonde in front of him holding his hand. He's so caught up in her that she has to nudge him when the minister addresses him directly.

But the 'I do's go off without a hitch, and pretty soon he's kissing his new wife in front of an ecstatic, clapping crowd.

Sarah ends the kiss and pulls back to look at him, still smiling widely. They link arms, and the minister presents them as "Mr. and Mrs. Charles Bartowski." Chuck's cheeks ache from grinning so much.

He's still grinning hours later at the reception as he and Sarah share their first dance to Ella Fitzgerald's "Come Rain or Come Shine." Despite not being the best dancer in the world, he somehow spends half the afternoon and night dancing with Sarah, Ellie, and every single one of Sarah's female relatives, including her adorable nieces.

Escaping from the dance floor for a moment to grab a drink, he and Sarah run into Ellie, Devon, and Casey chatting near the bar.

"So, Chuck," Devon begins, "you never told us where the honeymoon's going to be." He takes two champagnes from a nearby waiter and offers them to Chuck and Sarah.

Chuck takes his drink with a smile. The honeymoon. He hadn't been substantially helpful while Sarah, her family, and Ellie had planned most of the wedding, but the honeymoon had been the one thing he insisted on taking care of himself.

Sarah laughs. "He hasn't even told me yet!"

"Chuck!" Ellie admonishes, smacking his shoulder lightly.

"Well," he says, speaking to everyone but looking at his wife, "We're going to Hungary."

"Hungary?" Devon asks, sounding confused as to why anyone would choose to go there in late autumn.

Casey says softly, "Beautiful country." Chuck takes that to mean that he's read Sarah's file and approves in his own reserved way.

Ellie simply gushes without words.

But Sarah. The look in Sarah's eyes is enough to tell him that his gamble paid off. She takes a shaky breath and wipes a tear from her eye.

"Thank you, Chuck," she says quietly, her voice barely audible above the music.

He smiles, slipping an arm around her back. "You're welcome, Mrs. Bartowski."

**I close my eyes and I see you standing right there  
Sayin 'I do' and they're throwing the rice in our hair  
Well, the first one's born  
And a brother comes along,  
And he's got your smile.  
I've been looking back on the life we had  
I'm still by your side**

"This is messed up. Something's wrong. I think they forgot parts!" Chuck exclaims as he sits on the nursery floor among the dissembled pieces of a wooden crib. He looks up hopelessly at his radiant wife, who's eight months into her pregnancy.

Amused, Sarah answers, "I'm sure all the correct parts are there, honey." He scoffs, causing her smile to widen. "It's not my fault you gave away our first crib to Anna and Morgan."

"I was trying to be a good friend," he protests, examining a wooden dowel.

She moves to stand behind him and threads a hand through his thick hair. He closes his eyes involuntarily. "I know," she says. "You most definitely are. And you can always ask Awesome for some help. He had no trouble building the last one." She pauses, a wicked glint in her eyes. "Or Molly's toddler bed. Or her dresser. Or the home entertainment complex in the living room. Or –"

He cuts her off sullenly, "Yeah, yeah, I get it. Devon's wonderful." He waves his hands mockingly as he says it.

She laughs. "What's wrong with you today? Didn't you get your daily gaming in?"

"I just," he sighs, looking up at her, "wanted to be the good husband for you."

Kneeling down, she winds her arms around his chest, getting as close to him as her swollen belly allows. "After six years of marriage, you still don't get it, do you?" she murmurs. "I married you for your looks, obviously."

He laughs – exactly the reaction she wanted.

She asks quietly, "Do I really have to list off the things you do for our family, Chuck?"

He shakes his head. "I just wish I could build this stupid crib."

With a smile, she replies, "We've still got a few weeks before this son of yours pops out, so I think we'll figure it out before then."

He starts to pick up a screwdriver, but stops, his hand frozen in mid-air. He twists to look at her. "Wait. What makes you so sure it's a boy?"

She shrugs. "Womanly intuition."

"Huh," he says absently, staring into space. He snaps out of it soon enough and asks cheekily, "So you married me for my money, right?"

"Oh, of course," she agrees, laughing as she plays with his curls. Then she says seriously, "I married you, Chuck, because I love _you_ and only you." She kisses his ear, and her next sentence is punctuated as she places soft kisses along his jaw line. "You – are – everything – I – want – in – a husband – and – a best friend."

He swivels on the floor to face her and wraps his arms around her, creating the perfect space for her arms around his neck. He gives her a soft kiss and leans his forehead against hers. "Mmm . . . I love you, too, sweetie. Have I told you that today?"

She sighs contentedly. "You have now."

He pulls his head away to get a good look at her, unable to keep a half-smile from forming on his face. He loves the way her bright eyes still shine every time she looks at him and the way she can still make his heart thump and his palms sweat.

"After all these years," he says, gazing directly into her sapphire eyes, "you still make me feel like a love-struck teenager."

She smiles, but the smile doesn't quite reach her eyes. "Chuck, I'm eight months pregnant. I look hideous."

He shakes his head. "I hate to disappoint you, but . . . not to me." He gives her a soft, sweet kiss on the lips. "Sarah Bartowski, you are every kind of beautiful."

**So don't fear it now,  
We're going all the way.  
That sun is shining on a brand new day.  
It's a long way down  
And it's a leap of faith  
But I'm never givin' up  
'Cause I know we've got a once in a lifetime love**

Chuck sits in his regular seat, four and a half-year-old Molly to his left and two-year-old Jason on his lap. The crowd cheers as the Bruins make the last out of the first inning and jog in to the dugout. Molly enthusiastically waves her foam finger, much too large for her small hand. Jason looks around curiously at the noise, and Chuck puts his giant palms around his son's tiny ones to get him to clap with the crowd.

Sarah, in her blue and yellow coaching polo, walks out onto the field backwards, talking with someone in the dugout. She's wearing shiny sunglasses, and there's a blue visor emblazoned with the word 'Bruins' perched on her head. Chuck smiles at the sight. He thinks she looks so cute in her coaching uniform.

She turns around and heads down the first base line, looking over to where he's sitting. As soon as she sees him, she smiles and waves. He waves back, and then raises Jason's hand. Molly's already waving her arm off beside him. Sarah takes her place in the first base coaching box, but turns to give them one last grin.

He loves this routine they've settled into. He loves taking the kids to the games and hanging out with the players' parents and the other coaches' spouses. He loves the energy of the wins and even the disappointment of the losses. He loves that the players have become friends with their kids, teaching them to play a sport he has come to love but one for which he has little talent. He loves going out for pizza after wins, and even after losses. And he loves that his wife gets to show off her planning and strategizing skills in her coaching position while still keeping a sharp lookout for new recruits for the agency.

The umpire yells for the warm-up balls to be tossed into the respective dugouts and the bottom of the inning commences. Chuck turns his attention back to the game as the pitcher throws the first ball. He smiles.

Yep. His life is good.


	20. Boulevard of Broken Dreams

Song: "Boulevard of Broken Dreams," by Green Day.

A/N: I finally took down the "What's your favorite Collide song?" poll. Thanks to everyone who voted! The results:

"Collide," Howie Day.

"Let Me Go," 3 Doors Down.

"Here (In Your Arms)," Hellogoodbye.

Also, I put up a new poll regarding the next chapter. You can pick the song! :D

* * *

**I walk a lonely road  
The only one that I have ever known  
Don't know where it goes  
But it's home to me and I walk alone**

An agent's life is a lonely one. Sarah had known that when she had signed with the CIA. It's not as if her life had been a bad one. She had a loving family, a nice childhood. But she also had what her grandmother called wanderlust. Even in high school, she felt the need to get out into the world and do something. When the agency approached her during her junior year in college, she was finally offered that opportunity.

Over the past five years, she's risen through the ranks through sheer determination. She had met a few friends along the way, sure, but no one with whom she could share anything. Most of the people she's gotten to know, Carina for instance, have their own agendas, even if they do help you out on occasion. She's gotten used to the agent world – knowing many, trusting few.

Then she had met Bryce.

**I walk this empty street  
On the Boulevard of Broken Dreams  
Where the city sleeps  
And I'm the only one and I walk alone**

_Sarah wakes with a smile on her face. Always a reserved person, it had taken over a year of being partnered with Bryce before he had broken down her walls. But the decision had paid off. They'd been going strong for two and a half years now, and the CIA had never seen a more successful partnership. Graham was even willing to turn a blind eye on their fraternization simply because of how valuable they were to the agency as a team._

_With both her personal and professional lives on track, she's never been happier. _

_Her eyes still closed, she stretches, reaching out for him. But all she feels is cold sheets, and her eyes shoot open. Their apartment is exactly like they'd left it last night. The window blinds are half-open, sunlight streaming in through them. His clothes from yesterday are thrown over the chair in the corner, his running sneakers lying underneath. _

_He's probably just taking a shower or making breakfast._

"_Bryce?" she calls._

_She strains her ears for an answer, but the apartment is silent. Trying to ignore the misgivings that have settled into her stomach, she pushes off the covers and gets out of bed. She pulls down the hem of her tank top and cautiously steps out into the hallway. Still no sound. _

_She follows the hallway, dragging her hand along the wall to steady herself. When she reaches the kitchen, she immediately spots a note on the table. With a deep breath, she crosses to the table and picks it up. There are five words written in his neat handwriting: _

It's hard to say goodbye.****

I walk alone  
I walk alone  
I walk alone  
I walk a . . .

Bryce has been off-the-grid for two days now, and she's been going out of her mind. The only thing keeping her from being suspected of aiding him is her outstanding record. Within the agency, she's widely regarded as Graham's protégé. He recruited her, even trained her when his schedule allowed. And suspicion thrown on her would automatically bounce to him. In an agency as tight as the CIA, a rogue agent is dealt with as soon as a loyal one gets his hands on him.

Which is why she'd been dreading Graham's call for the past two days.

The only way to throw suspicion off of herself is to hunt down her ex-boyfriend personally.

Stepping into Graham's office, it's the first time she can recall feeling intimidated by him.

He gestures to the seat in front of his desk. "Sit down," he rumbles, the picture of calm despite the fact that one of his best agents just went rogue.

She complies without a word.

"I assume you know why you're here," he says.

"You want me to track down Bryce." It's a statement, not a question. She's been in this business long enough to know what he wants from her.

"Bryce is dead."

_Dead_? An acute pain cuts through Sarah, and she fights to keep from protesting that there must be a mistake. After the initial wave of shock, she feels the edges of her mouth start to curl up. Of course he'd only survive two days off-the-grid. Fiercely, she squashes all inappropriate thoughts. Hurt and disbelief quickly move in to fill the hole in her heart.

Graham continues, "Major Casey of the NSA shot him last night, but only after he managed to steal the Alpha version of the Intersect and send it to his college roommate."

Sarah squashes the jumble of emotions and says evenly, "And you want me to track this guy down and deal with him."

"Precisely." He hands her a file. "This is all the information you should need. I booked you a flight to Los Angeles. You leave tonight."

Nodding, she stands up. "Of course. I'll take care of it."

She turns and strides to the door. As she reaches for the handle, he says, "I'm surprised you're taking this so well."

She walks out without a backward glance, her mind reeling as she winds her way through the corridors and down the stairwells all the way to the parking lot. If she thought keeping her cool in front of people who wanted her dead was hard, keeping it in front of her colleagues is even harder.

The CIA has eyes everywhere; there's nowhere she can go in D.C. to be alone to grieve. In order to keep her mind focused on what's important, she'll just have to do her damn job.

As for her personal life, she's learned her lesson. She should have been rational and listened to her head instead of letting Bryce sweet talk her into a relationship.

She promises herself that there's no way in hell she'll ever get involved with a fellow agent again.

**My shadow's the only one that walks beside me  
My shallow heart's the only thing that's beating  
Sometimes I wish someone out there will find me  
'Til then I walk alone**

The apartment feels empty. Bryce's presence used to make it so vibrant, so alive. But now, as she sits listlessly at the kitchen table, the only noise she can hear is the erratic beating of her own heart.

Everything they had planned, everything they had dreamed about – all gone. She had always been self-sufficient, but the bomb Graham dropped on her today forces her to wonder about her recovery time. How does one rebuild one's life without one of its key players?

Glancing around the kitchen, she spots one of his favorite coffee mugs – a _Star Trek _mug that features a disappearing Klingon ship and a phrase in the alien language (which he could actually read) – still on the counter. Rising from her chair, she moves to the counter to get a better look at the mug. He had once told her that his roommate from college gave it to him as a birthday present, but he never expounded on that tidbit.

She takes a deep, shaky breath. Maybe he's been in contact with that roommate this whole time, plotting to steal the Alpha Intersect. Perhaps their relationship was just a cover to keep her off balance, to prevent her from suspecting anything.

Without thinking, she picks up the mug and throws it across the room. It hits the opposite wall with a satisfying _crash_, shattering into tiny fragments and leaving a small dent in the plaster.

The sudden intensity of her rage frightens her, especially since she's famous within the agency for thinking logically and keeping her composure in even the direst of circumstances. Breathing heavily, she pounds the counter with a fist. The broken pieces of the mug stare at her accusingly from the other side of the room.

She hates Bryce.

She hates him for leaving her.

She hates him for making her feel vulnerable, for making her unable to think straight, for making her question her previously infallible judgment.

More than she hates Bryce, she hates herself – for trusting him, for believing his lies, for falling for his charming demeanor and bad boy appeal.

Silently, she crosses the kitchen and stoops to pick up the pieces.

Her flight's not until late tonight. It'll take her twenty minutes at the most to pack. That should leave a few hours to gather all of his belongings and toss them into the dumpster behind the apartment complex.

If only it were that easy to get rid of her demons.****

I'm walking down the line  
That divides me somewhere in my mind  
On the border line  
Of the edge and where I walk alone

_Sarah sits in the passenger's seat, staring out the window at the sights of Mexico, her brows drawn in anger. She's still smarting from the apparent fact that Graham gave the details to their current assignment to Bryce only. Ever since she was five years old and the next door boys said she couldn't play soccer with them, she's had an intense dislike for being left out. _

_And so when Bryce told her to pack clothes for a warm climate, she was pissed. Too bad that, instead of seeming affected by her cold shoulder, he's merely amused by it. Damn. Maybe she's been partnered with him too long. This is starting to get dangerous._

_Bryce flips on the radio, still smiling idiotically. _

_She huffs, finally giving in. "Bryce, where are we going?"_

_He chuckles at her impatience. "I told you, you'll find out when we get there."_

_Except he doesn't tell her when they pull into the hotel parking lot, or when they get to their hotel room. All he tells her is to change for the beach. She fumes, but decides to play along. If this is an assignment, she needs to trust him implicitly. _

_When they get to the beach, Bryce winds his way to the shoreline. Sarah follows his lead in walking casually, but she scans the area for any sign of a contact. _

_Taking in his relaxed body language, she asks, her jaw clenched in irritation, "There's no mission, is there?"_

_He grins. "Nope. I just wanted to take you someplace romantic. You do remember that it's Valentine's Day, don't you?"_

_She shakes her head warningly. "Bryce . . ."_

_He stops to face her and takes her hands in his. "Seriously, Sarah, why do you keep fighting this?"_

_She sighs, looking him directly in the eyes. Her voice even, she replies, "Because relationships are distractions, and in our line of work, distractions could get us killed."_

_He cradles her face with one hand, shooting her a disarming smile. "I know you're scared, but you can't keep running. I'll take care of you, Sarah. We'll find a way to make this work."_

**Read between the lines  
What's fucked up and everything's alright  
Check my vital signs  
To know I'm still alive and I walk alone**

On the flight to L.A., Sarah stares out the window at the dark night. Every once in a while, they fly over a city, and the sight of the miniscule lights is oddly comforting. It reminds her of the immensity of the world, and it's always good for an agent to regain perspective.

Tucking a few stray strands of hair behind her ear, she pulls the file Graham gave to her out of the bag she stashed under her seat. On the tab, written in dark, bold letters are the words "Charles Irving Bartowski."

She snorts quietly. What a name.

But as she reads through the file, she starts to feel sorry for the guy. An absent mother; a distant, and now dead, father; and a roommate who got him kicked out of Stanford for cheating. The language is vague, the report ambiguous on his guilt. He was definitely expelled, but never charged.

Sarah looks up from the spread of papers on her fold-down tray, her expression shocked. Now she knows why Bryce never liked to talk about his college days. She rubs her eyes sleepily, wishing that Graham had never given her this assignment.

For the first time since she became an agent, she's completely lost. She feels as if her entire world has been flipped upside down. Good is now bad, and she has no idea where she falls any more. What if she had unwittingly helped Bryce in his treachery? Of all the possible scenarios for sorting out this chaotic mess, she could handle that one the least. 

**I walk alone  
I walk alone  
I walk alone  
I walk a . . .  
My shadow's the only one that walks beside me  
My shallow heart's the only thing that's beating  
Sometimes I wish someone out there will find me  
'Til then I walk alone**

Sarah pauses outside of the Buy More, nervously checking over her outfit one last time. She takes a breath. If she's going to redeem her reputation, she needs to make this a quick, easy mission.

Find Bartowski. Find the Intersect. Steal the Intersect back.

She feels a soft whoosh of air as the automatic doors open, and the chill, sterile atmosphere of the electronics store helps her assume the necessary detached demeanor. She walks confidently down the center aisle, amusedly notes the green Buy More sign hanging from the ceiling, and turns to see the Nerd Herd counter. She immediately recognizes the man with adorably curly standing behind it and talking on the phone as her mark. As the file only came with a few photos, the shorter, bearded man in the polo is more difficult to place. Even so, she should have no problem.

She smiles dangerously. Bartowski won't even know what hit him.

Walking up to the Nerd Herd counter, she hears the man with the beard say, "Stop the presses. Who is that? Vicki Vale?"

Though the reference flies over her head, she's undeterred. Until, of course, Bartowski, who hasn't noticed her yet, begins an impromptu Vicki Vale rap.

Her smile softens involuntarily, and she feels oddly relaxed. This is not how she expected this meeting to go. This is not the kind of guy she expected Charles Bartowski to be.

As he notices her approach, he drops the phone, looking more than a little humiliated. She fights a chuckle and then wonders why, realizing that she hasn't laughed at all in the past three days and that she hasn't let out a true laugh in much longer.

She says with a diverted smile, "I hope I'm not interrupting."

He recovers, stumbling over his words slightly. "No, not at all. That, it's from _Batman_."

_Batman_? Really? He has to know how pathetic that sounded. The comment, however dorky, cements her first impression of him. But as unintentionally charming as he is, there's no way she can let that slide.

Her grin even wider now, she replies, "'Cause that makes it better."

Bartowski turns to her so she can finally get a good look at his face. For a moment, she's stunned by the warmth in his eyes.

There's nervous laughter from both men, and she chides herself for getting so distracted by Bartowski that she almost forgot his friend. Far from being offended, he seems to have noticed where her attention lies.

"Hi, I'm Morgan," he pipes up, "and this is Chuck."

Morgan Grimes. Of course.

"Wow, I didn't think people still named their kids Chuck," she teases. Turning to Grimes, she adds, "Or Morgan, for that matter."

Hovering between nervous and playful, Bartowski replies, "My parents were sadists, and carnival freaks found him in a dumpster."

Grimes chimes in, "But they raised me as one of their own."

For just an instant, Sarah can see what life would be like with people like this, people who care about each other, people who laugh with each other. Before she can get trapped in an agent's greatest weakness, Chuck swoops in to save her.

"How can I help you . . ." He trails off, obviously fishing for her name.

"Sarah," she supplies, exceedingly glad for the change of subject. A few more minutes and she would have been a goner, lost in those inviting brown eyes.

"Sarah," he repeats. Though it's not her real name, it's a cover she's been using for a while, and it sounds nice from his lips.

Preferring not to dwell on how quickly and easily they've gone from "Bartowski and Grimes" to "Chuck and Morgan," she takes the broken phone out of her purse and sets it on the counter. She tells him, "I'm here about this."

He immediately relaxes, comfortable in his world of gadgets and tech speak. "Oh, yeah, the Intellicell. Yeah, absolutely. This model has a little screw that pops loose right in the back here." He pops off the back of the phone and sticks the cover in his mouth. Holding the phone with one hand, he takes out a screwdriver and tightens a screw on the back of the phone. "And you just go ahead and give it a couple quick turns aaaaaand –" He presents the fixed phone to her with a small flourish. – "good as new."

She takes the cell phone and looks at him approvingly. "Wow, you geeks are good."

The two men exchange looks. Chuck babbles, "Nerds, I would say 'nerds' probably more. Yeah, you know, 'nerd herd.'"

She chuckles, but their conversation is interrupted by a distraught-looking man with a video camera and his young daughter, dressed in a ballerina outfit.

"Excuse me, excuse me," the man says hurriedly, offering the video camera to Chuck. "I don't know what I did wrong, but I shot the entire recital and now it won't play back."

"Okay, okay," Chuck says politely, taking the camera. "We'll just take a look and – you don't have a tape in here." He glances up at the man, but instead of looking exasperated, he merely looks sorry to be the bearer of bad news.

The father protests, "But it's digital."

"Oh, boy," Morgan mutters.

Chuck grimaces, explaining patiently, "Right, but you still need digital tape."

The man's eyes widen with awful realization. "Oh, no. Her mom's going to kill me."

Chuck looks at the daughter, then shoots Sarah a conflicted glance. His instincts to help others winning out, he turns to his friend and says, "Morgan, I need the wall."

"It's yours," Morgan responds as he runs off.

The wall? Sarah's intrigued, finally interested in something again. After spending the last few days in a haze, she's feeling a tiny spark within her.

Chuck apologizes and rushes off to a wall of TV monitors. Sarah stays by the Nerd Herd counter as the ballerina and her father follow him. He, Grimes, and a few of their coworkers set up the camera (with a tape this time) and wire it so that the scene being shot on the camera is being shown on every single screen.

Chuck leans over to speak to the ballerina. "What's wrong?"

The girl frowns. "I'm usually in the back row."

Chuck's face falls. "Why?" he asks.

"I'm too tall. I block the other ballerinas," she says straightforwardly.

Chuck gives her a small smile. "Can I tell you a secret?" She nods. "But you can't tell the other girls. Real ballerinas? Are tall."

The girl smiles broadly. She gets ready, and a Buy More employee starts the music. A female Nerd Herder wearing an absurd amount of make-up and an inappropriately short skirt runs the camera.

Sarah can't help but smile at this impromptu ballet recital. It's so ridiculous, but at the same time, completely adorable. It's the kind of thing that makes her wonder what kind of world she unwittingly stepped into.

When the performance is over, she joins in the clapping. Chuck, smiling brightly, begins to walk over to her, but is intercepted by an angry-looking man in a Buy More polo. Her smile fades, but the interruption allows her valuable time to step back and assess the situation.

Only one conversation and he's already broken down some of her defenses.

Realizing how dangerous this thing with him could get, she decides to take the opportunity to regroup from the unexpected assault on her emotions. She slips a card onto the counter and walks away, throwing one last glance toward the endearing nerd with a seeming heart of gold.  
**  
I walk alone  
I walk a . . .  
I walk this empty street  
On the Boulevard of Broken Dreams  
Where the city sleeps  
And I'm the only one and I walk a . . .**

She waits until she's in the parking lot to let out her breath. Thankfully, when Chuck's not in the immediate vicinity to distract her, her concentration returns in full force. Her instincts are screaming that there's no way this guy is involved with Bryce or the Intersect, but since her ex-boyfriend's betrayal, she's unsure of herself and isn't willing to trust her own judgment.

Despite the uncertainty that threatens to consume her, she has an oddly comforting feeling that she can't quite place, something she hasn't felt since before she joined the agency. As she unlocks her car and slides into the driver's seat, she's struck with realization.

Somehow, her minuscule, organized world has unexpectedly grown. Her perspective has unexpectedly changed.

She's at a loss to explain how he's done it, how he's burrowed inside of her heart with just a twinkling smile and without a fair warning, but she suddenly feels not so alone. 

**My shadow's the only one that walks beside me  
My shallow heart's the only thing that's beating  
Sometimes I wish someone out there will find me  
'Til then I walk alone . . .**


	21. Innocence

Song: "Innocence," by Hootie and the Blowfish.

A/N: This story is meant to come after Chapter 18: "Everyone Loves to Love a Lie." It may not make sense if you haven't read that first.

Also, the poll for the song for the next Chuck chapter is still up, so feel free to vote! :)

* * *

**What else can I do when the tears have all been wasted  
And the only voice you choose to hear  
Sings the songs of our hearts breaking?**

Chuck walks in the front door, a grocery bag in each arm. His eyes dark and brooding, he heads into the kitchen to set the bags on the counter. Sighing, he runs a hand through his hair in frustration.

Sarah.

She's been distant ever since he had asked her to go with him and Morgan to that morning's book signing. The mere mention of Hale's name had freaked her out so much that she's been avoiding him since Wednesday.

Slowly, he begins putting away the groceries. He has no idea how to tackle this problem. Should he confront her or let her come to him? And confront her about what, exactly? He really doesn't have a clue about what's going on between them. They've been steadily growing closer for the past year, and he feels like they've finally figured out the kinks of their relationship. Of course, she's still agonizingly stubborn about boundaries, but she's also opened herself up more than he ever imagined she would.

The mixed signals are driving him out of his mind.

He puts the last of the groceries away and starts down the hallway, smiling slightly at the prospect of settling down for the night with only Marcus Hale's new novel. He opens the door to his bedroom and stops, immediately catching sight of Sarah sitting on his bed. Even in the dark, he can make out the book lying in her lap. When he flips on the light, he can clearly see her shaking hands and tear-streaked cheeks.

Though she gave him no inkling that she'd be here, his first instinct is to go to her, to take her in his arms and comfort her until nothing bad can ever touch her again. But a vague, unpleasant feeling creeps into his chest. She looks up at him, her eyes bloodshot, and his heart splinters.

"What is it?" he asks through clenched teeth, trying to ignore the feeling that her words are going to be the knockout blow.

"I'm sorry," she sobs. "I'm so, so sorry. It's just, we were at this horrible stage in our relationship, and I didn't know where to turn. It didn't mean anything. I needed someone who wasn't you, that's all. I swear to you, Chuck, I never meant to hurt you."

He forces air in and out of his lungs slowly, his nostrils flaring. Feeling no calmer, he says coldly, "I'm not sure I follow."

She rises from the bed and steps closer. Holding the novel towards him, she confesses hysterically, "I slept with him, Chuck." His eyes blaze, and he consciously avoids touching the book. "Things just got out of control," she continues, her voice more distraught with each passing second. Without taking a breath, she admits, "I was angry with you, so I went to The Sleeping Dragon across town, and he was working there, and all I wanted to do was get my mind off you, but one thing led to another, and before I knew it –"

He cuts her off, his words dripping with malice. "You were in his bed?"

She takes an involuntary step backward, her chest heaving. He stares at her, his gaze penetrating, until she averts her eyes, a blush tinting her cheeks.

"Get out," he tells her calmly.

With a slight shake of her head, she replies, "Please, Chuck. I'm trying to be honest with you. Can't we at least talk about this?"

The plea in her eyes is almost too much for him. But he sets his jaw and says, "I'm tired of talking. You should leave." He averts his gaze, unwilling to bear witness to the breaking of her heart.

Desperately, she clutches his arm. "Chuck, I'm begging you. Don't walk away from this. Not now. Not when I need you most."

He can't pretend that her touch isn't like fire – warm at first but dangerous if held for too long. He jerks away from her.

On his way out the door, he says, "Fine. If you won't leave, I will."****

Say your dreams, they all have changed.  
Well, my smiles, they all have faded.  
And the thoughts that used to seem so pure in my heart,  
They now feel jaded.

Chuck sits at the end of the bar, his head against his hand. With the other hand, he pushes his bottle of beer around on the counter. He stares at the brown bottle, trying to remember how many he's had. It's probably not a good sign that he can't.

Out of the corner of his eye, he spots the bartender who's been enabling him all night speaking to one of his colleagues with dark hair. He feels a surge of anger.

Marcus Hale.

Chuck sits up as he notices Hale coming toward him. The bartender stops in front of him, resting his hands on the table.

Hale tilts his head toward his fellow worker. "My friend over there says you've been hitting the bottle pretty hard tonight. Everything okay?"

Chuck looks up at him under heavy lids, his mouth drawn into a thin line. "She told me it didn't mean anything," he says, his words only the tiniest bit slurred, "but if it meant nothing, why would you dedicate your book to her?" His eyes flare. "Correct me if I'm wrong in that assumption."

Regret passes over Hale's face, and he sighs heavily. "You're him," he states simply.

Chuck replies bitterly, "Yep. I'm the fool who got the wool pulled over his eyes and didn't figure it out for a whole year."

"It wasn't like that." His hand on his forehead, Hale shakes his head. "Listen, I'm off in twenty minutes. Why don't you sober up and we'll talk then?"

Hale takes the beer and walks away, returning with a mug of coffee.

"Here," he says as he sets it down on the counter. "Drink this instead."

Chuck takes it resentfully, but the hot liquid has a calming effect. His mind, though not completely clear, is at least somewhat less foggy. He continues to sip the coffee, growing more cognizant with each gulp. When there are only dregs left in the mug, he feels a hand on his back. He turns to see Mark, dark hair falling into expressive eyes.

"Hey, man," Mark says. "Let's go talk."

Chuck shrugs him off moodily, but stands up to follow nevertheless.

"You okay to walk?" Mark asks as they exit the bar.

Chuck, brows narrowed, grunts an affirmative.

"All right, then," says Mark, putting a hand lightly on his elbow to steady him.

Chuck walks slowly, taking care to place his feet firmly on the sidewalk. He's not drunk, but the lights of the city are a little too bright for his liking. Mark surreptitiously matches his pace.

"What's your name?" Mark asks.

"Chuck," he replies.

Mark narrows his eyes at him. "Wait," he says, pointing at him, "I remember you. Were you at the book signing this morning?"

A faint blush rises to Chuck's cheeks. Out of all the people in the world, she had to go and sleep with his favorite author. He nods sheepishly.

"Damn," Mark mutters under his breath. "Look," he sighs. "I don't really know where to begin, so I'm just going to come out and say that it was one night. And all it was for her was a distraction."

Catching on to what he doesn't say, Chuck asks, "And what was it for you?"

"I'm not going to lie and say it didn't mean anything. It did." He stares off into the distance. "But she held all the cards. And I dealt with it by writing a book, hoping she'd get the message if she wanted to."

"Did you know about me?"

Mark refrains from answering for a moment, but finally admits softly, "Yes."

"But you still wrote it?"

He shrugs. "I couldn't just wallow. Writing's how I get my feelings out."

Chuck nods, understanding this.

"We talked about you," Mark continues. He pauses, waiting for a response. But Chuck just purses his lips and stays silent. "No specifics, of course," he says in a low voice, looking down at his feet. "She was quiet, but even more so when the subject of you came up."

Chuck glances over at his companion. He asks cautiously, "Why do you think that was?"

Mark puffs out his cheeks, exhaling audibly. "I think she was scared. Of you, of what you offered." He runs a hand through his hair, brushing his bangs out of his eyes. "I don't know. I realize knowing her for a day doesn't qualify me to make these kinds of observations, but she just got this look in her eye every time she talked about you, even if she didn't mention your name. I've never seen someone more terrified of being in love."

"What did she say . . . about me . . . exactly?" he falters, not sure he wants to know the answer.

"Not a whole lot, really. Mostly that you were the only one who made her question her commitment to her job, though I never quite understood why she was so sure that a relationship would ruin her career."

Chuck's silent, mulling this over. For the first time, he thinks this might be about him after all. "I just don't get why she sought comfort in a complete stranger, why she could talk to you, when she constantly pushes me away."

Mark looks over at him. "Don't you ever find it easier to confide in someone you don't even know, someone you'll never see again, rather than the very person you should be talking to?"

Chuck can follow the logic of this argument, and he nods in agreement.

"We were both running from things we couldn't escape."

"What if she never realizes that she can't escape? What if she doesn't accept that she can't escape?" Possibilities run through Chuck's mind faster than he can comprehend them, and the rushing thoughts make his breathing labored. "What if, what if –"

Mark stops walking, grabbing him by the shoulders. "Hey, Chuck, buddy. Calm down," he urges. He puts one hand on the side of Chuck's head, as if to knock some sense into him. "This is going to be all right. And believe me, the last thing she wanted was to hurt you."

Chuck takes a deep breath. "Then why is she so afraid to love me?"****

Because I wanna feel like I did.  
And I wanna feel innocence.

Chuck stumbles to the apartment and takes his key out of his pocket. More because of the day's events than because of the night's drinking, he has difficulty getting the key into the lock. He curses under his breath, still struggling, when the door opens abruptly, and he comes face to face with his irate-looking sister. He freezes, his eyes wide open in dread of the verbal lashing she's obviously ready to dish out.

Ellie steps to the side of the doorway and points into the living room. "In," she says icily.

Suddenly feeling alert, he obeys. He's not stupid enough to risk her wrath any more than he already has. Inside, he's surprised to find Morgan sitting in the armchair, a grape soda in hand, and Devon asleep on the couch.

He sinks to the floor, lying on his back with his arm over his eyes. "Why is Devon on the couch?" he asks lazily. He smacks his tongue around his mouth and grimaces. His mouth tastes gross.

"Sarah's asleep in our room," Ellie tells him.

He picks his head up to squint at her. "Why?"

"Because."

Resigned to not getting a straight answer, Chuck lies back down. He stares at the ceiling light, challenging himself to see how long he can keep from blinking. His eyes are watering when Morgan invades his vision.

"This is an intervention, buddy," Morgan says.

Chuck blinks away the tears. "What? What are you talking about?"

Ellie says harshly, "Sit up, Chuck."

He complies and leans against the coffee table. He doesn't meet her gaze, afraid of what's coming.

Uncharacteristically serious, Morgan accuses, "Obviously you're too stubborn to fix your relationship on your own."

"My relationship with Sarah is _my_ business," Chuck seethes, glaring daggers at his sister and best friend.

"Your business is our business, my not-so-smart friend," says Morgan.

Halfway through his sentence, Ellie jumps in with, "It became my business the moment Sarah came to me."

Chuck glances up in surprise, his anger abating slightly. "What? She talked to you?" His brow furrows. Is it wrong to feel jealous of his sister because Sarah actually opened up to her?

"Yes," Ellie says, her eyes cold, "she came to me because she needed a friend, because she felt like she couldn't talk to you." She pauses, letting her words sink in, before continuing, "And you know what, Chuck? For the first time in our lives, I'm not on your side of the argument."

He breathes deeply, hoping to control his temper. He's angry with Sarah. He doesn't need to be angry at Ellie and Morgan, too.

"You're being asinine," she says, and he winces.

Morgan adds, "This is by far the dumbest thing you've done since trying to get Jill back after she left you for Larkin."

Chuck stands, ready to round on his diminutive friend.

Ellie steps between them and says, "He's right. In that case, you were underestimating what you deserved, and in this case, you're exaggerating it."

"That was different," he protests.

Stepping out from behind Ellie, Morgan raises his eyebrows. "Yeah? How?"

"She didn't cheat on me!"

Ellie lets out a frustrated scoff and throws her hands in the air.

"She started going out with your supposed best friend without even formally dumping you!" Morgan reminds him. "How is that any better?"

Before he's even done, Ellie rounds on him with a different tactic. "For God's sake, Chuck! You and Sarah weren't even together last year! You're still not! What's the matter with you?" She half-growls, half-screams, "Arg! Sometimes I just want to shake some sense into you!"

Chuck runs a hand through his hair. He thought, of all people, his sister and best friend would be on his side.

Ellie puts her hands on her hips and says in a calmer voice, "Just go easy on her, that's all."

The anger wells up again. "Why should I?" he fumes.

She looks him directly in the eye. "Because she's a scared young woman who's never been in love and doesn't know how to handle it? Or because you love her too much to not forgive her. Trust me, Chuck. You don't want to live the rest of your life wondering 'what if?'."

Morgan nods sagaciously.

About to argue again, Chuck realizes something. "Did she say she loved me?" he asks, his voice trembling.

Ellie turns away. "I can't tell you any more than I already have."

He frowns. "Why not?"

She looks back at him somberly. "I only got her to open up because I promised that what she said wouldn't get back to you."

Shaking his head incredulously, he says, "I don't get it. Why would she not want me to know how she feels?"

"Maybe she's afraid of how you'll react," Morgan suggests softly.

Chuck looks from him to Ellie. The emotional turmoil gradually subsides. Ashamed, he confesses, "I don't want her to be afraid of coming to me."

Ellie smiles sadly at him.

Morgan claps his shoulder. "Swallow your pride, buddy. She made a mistake. Don't let that ruin your whole life."

He nods and lets his shoulders sag. He's suddenly very tired. "I'll go take her to my room. We can talk in the morning."

"That's the Chuck we know," Morgan says happily.

As he walks out of the living room, Ellie grabs him and locks him into a hug.

"I love you," she whispers. "You know that, right?"

He chuckles. "Of course I do." She releases him from the hug. "'Night, Team Bartowski," he says quietly before he turns to head down the hallway.****

What else can it be except this pride I'm sick of drinking?  
Storm clouds all have gone away.  
Can we stop this thing from sinking? 

Chuck opens the door to Ellie and Awesome's room, trying not to let it squeak. The room is dark, but as soon as he gets a sight of her, he feels his heart catch in his throat. Her flaxen hair frames her face, lit up by moonlight. The combined effect makes her look heart-achingly innocent. And he knows in his heart that he's forgiven her, but come morning, he's not sure he'll be able to look at her and see his Sarah, the woman he fell in love with.

But he has to take that chance.

Walking around the bed, he takes a deep breath. He stops, entranced by the rhythmic sound of her breathing. With shaking hands, he folds back the covers. She stirs. He freezes, waiting to see if she wakes. But as her breathing settles back in its sleepy rhythm, he leans closer, slides his arms under her, and lifts her up into his embrace. Murmuring drowsily, she unconsciously repositions herself against him, her head near his shoulder.

In the hallway, she opens her eyes, struggling to keep them open.

"Mmm, Chuck? Where are we going?"

"Shh, it's okay," he whispers. "I thought Ellie and Awesome would appreciate the use of their room."

She smiles, still in that state between dreaming and waking, and burrows deeper against his chest. "You came back for me."

He purses his lips. Not entirely, but she doesn't need to know that quiet yet. He's not even sure she would comprehend it if he tried to explain his many and confused motivations.

They reach his room, and Chuck folds down the covers before laying Sarah down on the bed. Intending to go to the bathroom to get ready for bed, he moves away, but she simply latches her arms more tightly around his neck.

"Don't go," she pleads, her eyes still closed.

He can't suppress a chuckle. "I'll be right back, I swear. Five minutes."

She grimaces, opening her eyes to peer at him blearily. "Two."

He laughs softly again. "Fine. Two."

With a sigh, Sarah unlocks her arms and releases him. As promised, he's in and out of the bathroom in two minutes. When he gets back to the bedroom, she's curled up on her side so that he can't tell if she's fallen back asleep. Unable to withdraw his gaze for longer than a few seconds, he watches her as he grabs some pajamas out of a drawer and changes.

Pulling his t-shirt over his head, he walks toward the bed. He rolls back the covers and slides onto the mattress, settling close to the edge in hopes that the distance will keep him from smelling the intoxicating scent of her shampoo.

But Sarah apparently has different plans. Not fully asleep, she murmurs indistinctly as the mattress sinks under his weight. With a smile on her face and her eyes still closed, she shifts closer to him, slinking one arm across his chest. His eyes close involuntarily at the touch. He instinctively turns to face her, wrapping his arms around her. He settles his chin on the top of her head and breathes deeply, inhaling the scent of her strawberry shampoo.

As much as he hates to admit it, she feels so right exactly where she is.****

Because I wanna feel like I did.  
And I wanna feel innocence.

From the moment he wakes up, Chuck's gaze never leaves Sarah's face. She looks so calm that it pains him to realize that the only time he sees her so relaxed is when she's asleep, when she doesn't have to hide from him. Bringing his hand up to her face, he runs his fingers through her hair. He loves the softness against his fingertips.

Sarah takes a deep breath, and he can tell that, even though her eyes are closed, she's awake. She slides a hand up his chest and around his neck.

Blinking her eyes open, she mumbles, "You're still here."

He smiles at her despite himself. "Of course I am."

Returning his smile, she twirls the hairs at the nape of his neck. But the smile quickly fades, and an unspeakable sadness steals into her eyes. She breathes deeply, fighting back tears.

"Hey," he says softly, brushing away a teardrop from her cheek. He places his forefinger under her chin and tilts her head up. "What's wrong? Shouldn't you be the one comforting me?" He lets out a low chuckle.

She laughs sadly through her tears. Sobering up, she says, "I just keep thinking about what you must see every time you look at me."

He sighs, propping himself up on his elbow and asking, "You want to know what I see?"

She nods, looking almost afraid.

Running his fingertips down the side of her face, he says softly, "I see a young woman whose beauty is outshone only by her stunning personality." She chuckles. "I see a woman who values her career so highly that she sometimes forgets to take care of herself." He hesitates and averts his gaze before adding shakily, "I see . . . a woman with whom I could possibly spend the rest of my life."

She gasps and sits up, leaning her back against the headboard. She cups his face, forcing him to look at her. "You've forgiven me?"

Chuck pushes himself up and turns to face her. He moistens his lips, buying himself time. Glancing down, he stammers, "Ye-yeah. I think I have."

The edges of her mouth turn upward, but there's little joy in her eyes. A blush rises to her cheeks as she questions, "Ellie talked to you?"

"Yeah," he admits. "She and Morgan staged an 'intervention.'"

Far from having the desired effect of cheering her up, the comment merely amplifies her misery. "Would you," she begins in a quivering voice, "would you have forgiven me if they hadn't stepped in?"

He looks at her in surprise. "Sarah," he reproaches. "Of course I would have. I mean, it may have taken me a bit longer to come to that conclusion, but eventually I would've."

She gives him half a smile, saying sadly, "You deserve someone better than me."

"What are you talking about?" he asks incredulously.

Breathing deeply, she slides out from under the covers and walks over to the window. Hugging her stomach, she says quietly, "I'm damaged."

He follows her to the other side of the room. Wanting to reach out to her, he nevertheless respects her personal space. He swallows and asks, "Don't you think I should be able to choose who I give my heart to?"

Sarah turns, wiping tears away from her cheeks. She sniffles. "Do you believe me when I tell you that you're the best thing that's ever happened to me and that I don't know if I can ever forgive myself for screwing that up?"

"Come on, Sarah," he pleads, holding out his hands and smiling softly when she places her own in them. "I feel like I just took a step forward and you took two steps back. What happened?"

"I had a lot of time to think while you were gone last night," she admits in a whisper, holding onto his hands for dear life.

"Hey, hey, hey," he says soothingly. "Do you remember what you asked me the night of our first date? That night on the beach?"

Worry in her eyes, she shakes her head.

"You asked me to trust you," he recalls.

Her breath hitches, and he has the courage to step closer.

"And I do," he tells her. "I do trust you. I accept that we're going to have some rough patches down the road, but I also know that we'll get through them. You know how I know?"

She shakes her head again.

His voice is low but firm as he says, "I know because when I look in your eyes, I see whole days spent in each other's arms, and Saturday afternoon baseball games, and weekly trips to the library, and a house full of laughter." He pauses. "I don't want to lose that. I don't want to learn what my life would be like without you again. So I need you to trust _me _now. We can do this, Sarah. We can work through this."

She steps closer to him and wraps her arms around his waist. He responds by hugging her tightly, his hands running up and down her back. She lets out a choked sob.

"But first," he says softly, "you need to forgive yourself."****

And I want you to know,  
And to feel in your soul,  
That someone has come and gone.

Chuck walks through the front door, loosening his tie as he goes. His shift at the Buy More had been downright unbearable, and he's looking forward to relaxing with Sarah, especially since things have calmed down over the past week. As he steps into the living room, scents of cooking food invade his nostrils.

He inhales deeply. "Something smells delicious," he calls.

To his surprise, Sarah steps out of the kitchen, an apron over her clothes and a spoon in her hand.

Smiling, she replies, "Hey, how was your day?"

He walks toward her, his arms outstretched, and she leans into the embrace. He places a kiss on her forehead before sighing and saying, "Ug. It was the Buy More. How was yours?"

"The usual," she chuckles.

He laughs. "That bad? Apparently I'm not the only one itching for a mission."

"Yeah," she agrees, "or we need to find new cover jobs."

He releases her and heads into the kitchen. "So what's for dinner?" he asks, grabbing a can of Coke from the fridge.

She returns to the stove. "Chicken stir-fry."

"Excellent," he mumbles, "because I'm starving."

"It'll be ready in about five minutes," she promises.

He swallows a swig of cola. "Great. I'm gonna go change and wash up."

She gives him an assenting smile as he leaves. A few minutes later, he returns to the kitchen wearing jeans and a _Battlestar Galactica _"What the Frak?" t-shirt. Sarah scoops some stir-fry and rice onto two plates and carries them to the dining room table. He grabs his Coke and an iced tea for her and follows her.

"This is nice," he says as he sits down across from her.

"Yeah," she responds absently, her smile faded.

He stops shoveling food into his mouth when he realizes that her good mood is gone. Chewing, he watches her closely to try to understand what's going on. He swallows and asks, "Hey. What's the matter?"

Sarah glances up at him, her expression worried. "I have to tell you something," she whispers.

He braces himself for the blow, responding cautiously, "All right."

She takes a deep breath and confesses, "I'm quitting."

"What?" he asks, incredulous.

Frowning, she says, "I can't be a spy and have a relationship with you. And now I know which is more important to me."

"Sarah . . ." he breathes, shaking his head.

"No, Chuck," she says firmly. "This is my decision. Why are you so upset? I thought you'd be happy about this."

"Exactly!" he exclaims. "You thought about my reaction more than your own. I don't want you to give up the only life you've known because of me. You're going to get restless and bored without it. And I don't want to see that happen."

She puts a hand to her head, trying to find a hole in his logic.

"How about this?" he continues when she doesn't respond. "When I finally get these secrets out of my head, then we can talk to Graham about reassigning you to an easier position that lets you stay around here most of the year."

"That may be years from now," she complains. "What do we do until then?"

He smiles. "How 'bout going out on a date with me? A real one."****

I'm stuck up here with you.  
I never thought we'd get this high.  
I used to be afraid of falling.  
Now I'll spread my wings and I will fly.

Chuck carries his eight-month-old son, Sam, through the park. With a smile, he glances at Sarah, who leads three-year-old Kate by the hand and carries a wiffle bat and a bag of balls in her other hand. They're on their way to meet Ellie, Devon, and their kids, Hayden and Lily, for an afternoon game.

"Sarah? Chuck?" a familiar voice calls from behind them.

A vague sense of dread eats at Chuck. Sarah stops walking before he does. She glances at him, and they turn around in unison.

Chuck's stomach drops as he sees Mark standing down the path, holding hands with a visibly pregnant woman. He turns to his companion, says something, and tugs on her hand, leading her towards Chuck and Sarah. Chuck shifts Sam in his arms. Sarah puts a hand on his forearm and gives him a supportive smile.

Mark, his dark hair almost falling in his eyes, reaches them and offers Chuck his hand.

Warily, Chuck shakes it, saying, "Mark. We didn't expect to see you here."

He smiles. "No, no. My wife and I were just taking a walk." He motions to the woman. "This is Jessica. Jessica, this is Chuck and Sarah. They're . . . we knew each other a while back."

Sarah laughs, "About eight years ago."

Jessica smiles and shakes their hands. "It's always nice to meet friends of Mark's."

Sensing that her husband has some unfinished business, Jessica politely excuses herself from the conversation. Chuck watches her go, his heart a bit lighter.

"Congratulations," Sarah offers sincerely.

"Thank you," Mark replies. "We only met about three years ago. And we're pretty excited to start a family."

Chuck offers, "I read your latest book. I thought it was spectacular, your best so far."

Mark grins, "Thanks. I'm working on the next one. I'm planning for it to be a trilogy."

Chuck whistles. "Wow. Can't wait to get my hands on that."

Looking at him intently, Mark replies, "Don't worry. I'll send you a copy."

Chuck's eyebrows shoot up involuntarily. "Re-really?" he stutters.

"Of course." Mark looks between the two of them. "I can see you two have finally met in the middle."

Smiling, Sarah responds, "Yeah. It took a while, but we got there eventually."

Mark gazes at her. "I'm glad," he says, sounding completely sincere. Turning to Sam, he says in a more cheerful voice, "Now, aren't you going to introduce me to your gorgeous children?"

"This is Sam. Say 'hi', Sam," says Chuck. He lifts up the baby's chubby hand in a wave.

"Why, hello there, Sam," Mark greets with a laugh. He stoops on his haunches so he's on eye-level with Kate.

"And this is Kate," introduces Sarah, tousling her daughter's blond hair.

Mark smiles and holds out his hand. "Hi. It's very nice to meet you. I'm Mark."

Kate smiles shyly, but shakes his hand. "Hello," she says softly, then looks up at her mother, giggling.

"That's a very strong grip you've got there," he teases, causing her to blush.

"Kate," Chuck says, "This is the man who wrote _Time Machine Madness_."

Kate gasps. Confused, Mark stands and glances back and forth between Chuck and Sarah.

"She loves that book," Sarah clarifies. "Chuck read a chapter to her before bedtime each night for a month and a half."

Mark chuckles. Looking down at the three-year-old, he says, "Now that's it. I'm sending your family _two_ copies when the next book comes out." He returns his gaze to Chuck and Sarah. "You have a beautiful family."

Chuck inclines his head, smiling gratefully.

"Thank you," Sarah says.

"So what have you two been up to? Besides having a family, of course."

"Well," she begins, "I still work for the same company I did when we knew each other, just in a more limited capacity. There's no travel, and it's exponentially safer than my previous position."

"I'm really glad to hear that," he says with a smile. Turning to Chuck, he asks, "And what about you?"

Chuck replies, "Uh, I'm in the software business."

Sarah smiles. "He's being modest," she teases.

Mark raises his eyebrows. "Really? How so?"

"He and his best friend own Red River Games." As she says it, she puts a hand on the back of his neck, massaging it lightly. He rolls his eyes.

Mark starts, his eyes nearly bugging out. "No way! No freaking way!"

Sarah's expression is a mixture of perplexity and amusement.

Mark jumps up and down. "I love your games, man!"

Chuck laughs. "Thanks. I guess you're getting a free copy of the next one."

"Sweet! I'm telling you, I play _Star Crawler_ almost every night. I even got Jessica into it."

"That's amazing. It took me years to get Sarah into video games."

"Oh, come on," Sarah protests weakly.

Chuck grins at her, silently promising to make it up to her later. Exasperated, she shakes her head, resigning herself to listening to the boys geek out over video games.

"Chuck, wait," Mark says, his voice intensely serious. "I have an idea."

"Oh, no," Sarah mutters under her breath.

Mark holds his hands out, clearly intimating the greatness of his idea. "A few different companies have offered to turn some books of mine into games, but I haven't been happy with what they've shown me so far. Although I do like the idea of video games based on my books, so what do you say?"

His enthusiasm is infectious, but Mark still looks over at Sarah for her approval. Her countenance stays neutral, and Chuck takes it as a good sign.

After a pause, Chuck says slowly, "Are you asking Red River Games to adapt one of your novels?" He purses his lips in thought.

Eyes wide like he's viewing the future and it's a satisfying sight, Mark nods.

Chuck glances at Sarah, a smile grazing his lips. He's already decided, but he can't let on too quickly. She just chuckles softly and takes a wriggling Sam out of his arms.

"I'll have to talk it over with Morgan," he says.

Mark continues nodding. "Of course, of course." He takes his wallet from his pocket and pulls out a business card. "Here's my card. You give me a call when you're ready to talk about this, okay?"

Taking the card, Chuck smiles.

Mark frowns. "Wait. No, I don't trust you."

Chuck looks affronted. "What? Why not?"

"What if you don't call me? I can't have that. Now give me your card just in case. I don't want this to fall through."

Shaking his head, Chuck takes out a card and hands it over.

"Don't worry," Sarah says. "I'll make sure he calls in a timely fashion."

"Great," smiles Mark. Glancing at his watch, he continues, "Oh, shoot. I should go. Jessica's probably wondering what's going on."

"Yeah, we're supposed to be meeting my sister-in-law and her family, too," Sarah says, hastening his departure.

"Well," Mark says with a meaningful glance at Sarah, "it was really nice to see you two."

"Yeah, it was," she agrees. She shifts Sam in her arm and adds, "Take care of yourself."

He smiles. "I will. Definitely." Turning to Chuck and shaking his hand firmly, he says, "Chuck, I'm looking forward to working with you."

"You, too. I'll talk to you soon," Chuck replies.

"Absolutely. Later this week?"

"Sure. This week sounds fine."

"Great. I'll see you then."

Mark shuffles off, back to his wife. Chuck glances over at Sarah, watching him go, a strange look in her eye.

He rubs her elbow.

"Hey," he says. "You all right?"

She quirks a smile. "Of course I am. But are you okay with this? Working with him?"

He sighs, turning his gaze down the path. "Yeah, I think so. I get this weird feeling we'll actually be friends."

She chuckles, acknowledging, "You do seem to have a lot in common."

He mulls that over. Feeling Kate attach herself to his leg, he looks down at his daughter. "Hey there, kiddo. You okay?" She gazes up at him with a frown. "You want a piggy back ride?" he questions.

Kate grins, and he stoops so she can climb onto his back. He straightens up and takes the wiffle ball equipment from Sarah. They turn and walk down the path. Sarah puts her free hand on Chuck's bicep.

They wind through the park, and the clearing where the Woodcombs are waiting finally comes into sight. Ellie spots them first, waving enthusiastically. Chuck laughs, Kate waves back with a giggle, and Sarah holds up Sam's hand.

Before they're in hearing distance, Sarah turns to him and says, "I love you."

Chuck simply laughs, replying, "I know."

She smiles incredulously at his conceit, smacking him lightly on the arm. He grins and leans over to kiss her on the cheek.

"By that, I just meant that I'm ridiculously in love with you."

"Yeah, that's what I thought you meant."****

I wanna feel like I did.  
And I wanna feel innocence.  
I wanna feel like I did.  
Oh, and I wanna feel innocence, oh I . . .


	22. Breathe In, Breathe Out

Song: "Breathe In, Breathe Out," by Mat Kearney.

A/N: Finally, if you guys even remember the poll I had up about choosing the song for a chapter, this is the song that won, so here it is! :)

* * *

**Breathe in  
Breathe out  
Tell me all of your doubts  
Everybody bleeds this way  
Just the same**

Sarah lies on her side on the bed, facing Chuck. She has one hand beneath her head, the other clasping his, resting between their bodies. She could lie like this forever, simply staring into his eyes. Except by this time tomorrow, she'll be gone, halfway on her way back to Washington. The beta version of the Intersect went live last month, but it took another three weeks to perfect the process of removing the secrets from Chuck's brain.

She's always known that he has expectations for his life post-Intersect. He dreams of a life with her, a life where there are no barriers separating them. But she's not entirely prepared to give up the only thing she's known for the majority of her adult life.

The desire to discover herself, to define who she is without him, is too powerful. Her identity has an expiration date, and for the time being, it wins out over her love for him.

Though she knows she's doing it for her growth, it kills her to crush his expectations.

"You know this hurts me as much as it hurts you, don't you?" she asks quietly.

Sighing, he massages her hand. "Then why do you have to go?"

She closes her eyes in an effort to memorize what it feels like to be in his presence, pretending it's a rhetorical question. But he can't let it go.

"Sarah?" he urges softly.

Opening her eyes again, she finds his gaze has never left her face. "I need closure," she responds simply.

His lips tighten, and she has an overwhelming yearning to kiss those lips, to show him everything she's having a hard time translating into words.

"Is that all?" he asks. His voice is quiet, low, as if he's afraid of offending her. "Or are you just not ready to give it up?"

"And what if I'm not?"

He swallows. "Then I'd wait for you."

She smiles, a sad smile that sets off the love in her eyes. "Then what does it matter why I'm going?"

His expression falters, and he takes a deep, shaky breath. "It matters because I love you too much. Because I don't want you to go. Because I don't want to spend a day without you."

Her eyes narrow, and she says forcefully, "Don't think that I'm leaving you because I don't love you enough. Don't think that for one second." To emphasize her words, she moves her hand against his cheek, her thumb running lightly over his smooth skin.

A frown appears on his face, and she can almost see the possibilities running through his mind. The doubts, the fears, the insecurities. All because of her.

"Chuck," she breathes, "I hope you know that this has nothing to do with you. It's just something I need to do. There are things I need to figure out."

He shifts closer to her on the bed, closes his eyes, and whispers, "I just wish things could be different."

He opens his eyes, imploring her with his gaze, and she slides her hand down to his neck.

With an attempt at a comforting smile, she says, "I've spent every day since I've known you wishing, and now that we can finally be together, I'm going to do everything in my power to make that happen, even if it means it can only happen a year or two down the road."

He draws his gaze away from hers again, and she sighs. Is it selfish to ask him to wait?

Yes, of course it is.

But Chuck's the kind of guy who doesn't even need to be asked.

"Chuck, I know I have no right to ask anything of you –"

"I already trust you, Sarah," he interrupts. "You don't have to ask me to do that."

She shakes her head. Her voice is choked as she struggles to tell him, "You're the one thing in my life that makes sense, Chuck. You're my constant, my touchstone. I just –" Breaking off, she breathes deeply to hold back a sob and lets her eyes wander the room in search of strength. "- I couldn't handle it if I lost you over this. So you need to tell me the truth."

She pauses before asking, "Will you wait for me?"

A deep breath. A silence. A future that hangs in the balance.

"I'd wait for you for a thousand years, if only I were absolutely positive you'd come back to me."

She moves a hand to either side of his face, clutching it desperately, hoping to make him see sense.

"I'm promising you right now, Chuck," she says emphatically. "I don't know how long I'll be, but I promise you with every fiber of my being that I'm coming back to you. You're like my sunrise. I know you're going to always be there, and I'm always heading in your direction."

He nods, a sad smile on his face. "Then I'll wait for you, Sarah, through the darkest night."

She stares at him, a smile creeping onto her face. She could stare into his eyes forever. Only she doesn't have forever, so she'll take the time she has.****

Breathe in  
Breathe out  
Move on and break down  
If everyone goes away  
I will stay

Sarah doesn't mean to cry, but she can't stop the tears that form in her eyes or the lump that builds in her throat when she realizes that Ellie's planned a going-away dinner for her. Even through her onslaught of sadness and gratitude, she manages to hold back a deluge of tears.

She sits beside Chuck during dinner, scooting her chair so close to his that their legs touch. At one point during dinner, he reaches over and takes her hand under the table. Eating with one hand is difficult, but not impossible, and she'd rather be connected to him than eat with ease.

Dinner conversation is timid, safe, but she doesn't mind that everyone skirts around the fact that she'll be gone in just a few hours. She even appreciates that Ellie steers the conversation to keep her safe.

As Ellie and Devon serve dessert, Sarah glances around at the company. Casey's been gone for over a week, but Morgan and Anna sit across from her and Chuck. Her spirits fall as her eyes roam from one person to the next. They've become her only family, and she doesn't want to leave them.

Even though Ellie keeps everyone from addressing the elephant in the room, Sarah has no choice but to bring it up. She can't leave without letting everyone know how she feels.

"I – I," she stutters, taking a deep breath and squeezing Chuck's hand to steady herself, "I wanted all of you to know how much you mean to me. You'll never know how much you helped me over the past year. I feel like I'm leaving my family, and I can't thank you enough for letting me become part of that family."

At the end of her impromptu speech, everyone's eyes are misty with unshed tears.

Devon finally says, his voice slightly choked, "You're always welcome here, Sarah."

She nods, a sad smile on her face.

"Yeah," Ellie agrees, "Always. I want you to stay in touch, okay?"

Chuck coughs, but she shakes her head subtlely to wave off his attempt at protection.

"I'll try," she promises vaguely. "But I have to travel a lot for my new job, and I'm not sure how often I'll be able to call."

Chuck had already known this, but his face still falls, and his disappointment is reflected in his sister's eyes.

"That's too bad," she says. "Will you at least be back for Christmas?"

Sarah glances at Chuck, who tries not to look hopeful. She shrugs a shoulder uncomfortably. "I don't really know. I may be out of the country still."

Her admission prompts a chorus of protest:

"For Christmas?"

"That's horrible!"

"What kind of job is this anyway?"

"Wait a minute," Chuck interrupts, holding up a hand. "This is a good opportunity for Sarah, one she can't afford to pass up." He looks at her, a mixture of love and sadness in his gaze. "We're all going to miss her, but she deserves this."

She squeezes his hand and mouths, "Thank you."

All too soon, dinner's over and it's time to leave for the airport. She hugs everyone in turn, squeezing each person a little harder and longer than the last. When she gets to Ellie, she's so choked up that she can't say anything right away.

Ellie smiles through a sob. "I'm really going to miss you, Sarah." In a lower voice, so Chuck won't hear, she adds, "You were so good for my brother."

This admission threatens to break her heart clean in two.

"Ellie, I don't know what to say," Sarah practically bawls. "You're like a sister to me."

"You, too," Ellie murmurs. "You, too. And you always will be." She pulls away to look Sarah in the eye. "Never forget that, okay?"

Sarah shakes her head. "I won't."

She feels Chuck's hand on her back and turns to look at him.

"Time to go," he says softly, latching onto her hand.

Nodding, she wipes away her tears. "Yeah, okay." Sniffling, she adds, "Give me a minute, though. I think I forgot something in your room."

"Sure," he nods and releases her hand.

She grabs her duffel bag and walks quickly down the hallway, her head down to prevent her from seeing anything that would start another crying jag. Ducking into Chuck's room, she closes the door and leans her back against it to decide her next move.

Her eyes rove over his closet and fall on his dresser. With sudden conviction, she steps over to the dresser and opens the top drawer. Rifling through his t-shirts, she locates his black "Nerd Herd" shirt, the one with the little man and briefcase logo in between the words. She brings the balled-up t-shirt to her face and inhales deeply.

It smells like him.

It's exactly what she'll need.****

We push and pull  
And I fall down sometimes  
I'm not letting go  
You hold the other line  
'Cause there is a light  
In your eyes  
In your eyes

The ride is quiet, but not as tense as she expects. Neither says much, and Sarah never takes her hand from his knee. Not wanting to break the moment, she's content to watch him. He's hunched slightly towards the dashboard, his shoulders tight. His sleeves are bunched at the wrists, his hands firmly gripping the wheel. Noticing his watch, the she'd given to him long ago, the one with the no-longer-needed GPS tracking device embedded in the back, she wishes she'd thought to get him a farewell present.

But even as she thinks it, she realizes that's not what he needs. He'd only see it as dividing them even further. He's taught her enough about love for her to know that he doesn't need some superficial symbol of their time together. What he needs is the truth.

"Chuck," she whispers.

"Mmm?" His gaze flickers over to her, then back to the road. The lights from passing cars illuminate the fire in his eyes.

"You should know," she begins warily, "that I didn't have a lot before I joined the agency. And I felt like the CIA gave me a purpose. It gave me something to die for."

He nods, taking in her words.

She moves her hand to his shoulders, massaging them gently. "But you," she asserts in a soft voice as she leans closer, "you give me something to live for."

His smile grows, and she places a soft kiss on his cheek. She stays close to him, loath to lose the connection to him. Twirling the ends of his hairs with her fingertips, she leans her head against his shoulder.

When she's comfortable in their silence, he whispers, "Thank you."

They arrive at the airport with plenty of time to spare. She only has her duffel bag, which Chuck insists on carrying. As soon as he throws it over his shoulder, she latches onto his free hand, her lifeline, grasping it tightly.

She's taking a commercial red-eye back to D.C., and, being so late, the airport's not crowded. Hand-in-hand, they meander up to the check-in counter, where they're greeted by a sleepy attendant. A flash of Sarah's CIA badge gets them past the normal red tape and security checks so that Chuck's able to accompany her to the terminal.

The air is heavy with unsaid words, inexpressible feelings. She likes to think she can read everything he wants to say in his eyes, and she's content to just sit comfortably in his embrace.

"Sarah," Chuck says softly, grabbing her attention.

"Yeah?" She doesn't turn her face to look at him, just relaxes in his arms.

"How am I supposed to get through this?"

There's a sad, almost desperate tone to his voice that eats at her heart.

She sighs. "The same way you got through Stanford . . . Jill . . . your parents. The same way you get through all the bad, unfair cards life deals you." She swivels to face him, cupping his cheek with her hand. "You stay strong, Chuck. I know you can do that for me. And I'll do it for you."

His eyes darken, and, strangely quiet, he looks away from her. After a few moments of uncomfortable silence, he finally asks, "What did you mean when you said you didn't have a lot before the CIA?"

She sighs and leans her head against his chest. "My parents died when I was twelve."

He enfolds her in his arms. She can tell by the way his breath hitches that he's dying to say something that will take all her pain away. She knows that he hates feeling like he can't do anything about the ache in her heart, but he deserves to know.

"My sister and I lived with my grandmother afterwards," she continues quietly. "We lost touch once I joined the agency." She pulls back to look at him. "I haven't seen her in eight years."

Chuck purses his lips sadly. "Was she older or younger?"

Sarah's eyes fixate on a wall across the terminal as she thinks of days long past. "Younger." A sob catches her off guard. "I should have taken better care of her."

"Hey, hey, hey, you can't think like that."

She feels his hands on her face, and she can't deny the comfort she derives just from his touch. He strokes her hair and gently kisses her forehead.

Sarah takes a deep breath, running a hand through her loose hair. "I'm sorry I'm such a wreck. I –"

"No, hey," he interrupts softly. "Don't worry about it. You'll be fine. We'll be fine. Just calm down."

She nods, still trying to slow her erratic heart rate. He leans his forehead against hers, and they stay like that, comfortably quiet, until Chuck says, "I love you."

He can't see her smile, so he continues, "You believe me, right?"

"Yeah," she assures him, "I do."

He pulls back to look her in the eye. She stares right back at him, wanting so much to say the things he wants to hear. But before she can, her flight's called. They separate away reluctantly, and Chuck heaves a deep sigh.

"Time to go," she says, unconsciously echoing his earlier words.

They stand up, and Sarah shoulders her bag. Chuck takes her hand, trying to pull her to the boarding line, but she stops him. She needs to say goodbye before she loses it.

Drawing him to her with one arm, she says, "I need to go the rest of the way by myself."

With an unwilling expression, Chuck nods and places his hands on the sides of her face.

One last kiss. That's all she gets.

Sarah tightens her hold on his waist, pressing her closed lips against his. The part of her that appreciates irony thinks it's fitting that this is only their second real, honest-to-God kiss and they're spending it saying goodbye.

The story of her life.

She breaks away before she loses herself in him.

"Goodbye, Chuck," she whispers, forcing herself to turn away from him.

She doesn't look back as she walks away, because she's afraid if she does, she'll never have the courage to leave him.

**Hold on  
Hold tight  
If I'm out of your sight  
And everything keeps moving on  
Moving on**

Sarah sits patiently on the train ascending Corcovado Mountain. A dozen missions have gotten her to this point. Her latest had gone off without a hitch, and Graham had given her the go-ahead to take an extra day in the country and take in the sights. Now, sitting in her seat, surrounded by people with cameras and floppy hats, she feels like a regular tourist.

She forgets the sins she committed last night in the name of her country and dwells instead on happier thoughts. She thinks of Chuck, of how much he would have enjoyed coming here with her, of how excited he would be if he could see what she's seeing right now.

The ride through the rainforest is peaceful, and a little over fifteen minutes later, the tram comes to a stop. Hopping off, she steps into the warm afternoon sunlight. She's wearing jean cutoff shorts, a dark brown tank top, and a beige, short sleeved button-down that's hanging open and flapping in the breeze. But the day is hot, even with the wind, and she can tell that the tourists around her are daunted by the next section of the ascent.

With a grin, she begins climbing. Her collar and forehead are soaked in sweat when she reaches the top of the mountain. She glances back; her train group is out of sight.

It's late afternoon, and the crowd around the foot of the statue is not that large. She ambles slowly across the pavement to the base and cranes her neck to look upwards. Gazing at the massive face of the statue, she feels so tiny, so miniscule and trivial. Working for the CIA tends to give the agent a messiah complex, or at the very least, an exaggerated sense of one's own importance. She finds it helpful every once in a while, especially after missions, to remind herself of her insignificance.

She turns around, taking in the panorama of the city below with an audible gasp. This may be her favorite place in the world. Leaning over the railing, she promises to take Chuck here someday. She can just imagine the wonder on his face when he sees this in person.

From the position of the sun in the sky, she estimates that there's less than an hour until nightfall. She can easily spend an hour here in order to see the sunset and the city at night from this perspective.

And she does. She wanders aimlessly over the pavement, watching the people as she goes. When the sky begins to darken and the sun starts to drop behind the horizon, she picks a spot and settles down to watch the show. Ribbons of rose and gold appear in the sky, shedding a vibrant light on the clouds. The city below gleams, shining like a newly-discovered paradise.

When darkness descends, the stars pop out one by one, twinkling at her. The moon glows brightly, a shiny disc in the sky among the clouds, and she decides it's time to go. As her train was the last to go up the mountain, she's forced to hike back down. Strangely, she doesn't mind. The solitude is peaceful, calming.

When she gets to the bottom, she stops in the gift shop and wanders the cramped aisles in search of the gift she has in mind. And then she spots them. In the corner, wedged between saints medals and miniature statues are the snow globes. Her eyes instinctively skip over the cheap plastic ones. After a moment's perusal, she chooses a glass one that features a miniature replica of the Christ the Redeemer statue with the words "Rio de Janeiro" beneath it. She smiles as the cashier wraps it up for her and thinks of the eleven other snow globes sitting in boxes in her D.C. apartment, waiting to be delivered to their proper owner.

It's imprudent, she knows. But she feels like the snow globes keep her from completely detaching from reality. They're an intangible connection to Chuck, and she desperately needs that.

Once outside the gift shop, she takes only a few steps before spotting the chapel. Her breath catches in her throat. She hasn't been in a church since she was twelve years old. Before she realizes it, she's across the threshold and kneeling in a pew.

With so many sins to atone for, she stays in the chapel until the sun rises.****

Hold on  
Hold tight  
Make it through another night  
Everyday, there comes a song  
With the dawn

Her apartment in Washington is eerily quiet. That had always been one of its most comforting features. She'd return after a mission, come home to relax in the silence of her apartment. But right now, after this particular mission, she feels so empty, so . . . in need of human contact.

Feeling exceptionally lost, she pulls Chuck's Nerd Herd t-shirt out of her top drawer. Stripping her own shirt off, she draws his over her head and bunches the collar around her nose to get a good whiff of his scent. She sits down on the bed, resigning herself to missing him fiercely.

Almost unconsciously, she dials his cell number. It rings and rings until it goes to voicemail, but she hangs up before leaving a message. She'd rather try his house than simply leave an impersonal message.

She repositions herself on her bedspread as she dials his home number. Ellie picks up after the second ring.

"Hello?"

"Hi, Ellie," Sarah says hesitantly.

"Sarah! It's so nice to hear from you. It's been so long."

"I know. I'm sorry I haven't been able to keep in touch."

"I completely, completely understand. Things have been crazy busy around here since the wedding!"

"Oh! I'm so sorry I missed it." She hates having so much to apologize for.

"No, Sarah! Don't worry about it. We all missed you, though."

Sarah smiles sadly, imaging the elegance and intimacy of the Bartowski-Woodcomb wedding. "Ellie," she begins softly, "Do you think I could talk to your brother? I tried calling his cell, but he didn't pick up."

"Oh my gosh, he hasn't told you?"

Sarah's heart drops, but she keeps her voice calm as she asks, "Told me what?"

"He moved!" At the surprised silence that greets her, Ellie laughs and explains, "Yeah, he's grown up and has gotten his own place." More soberly she adds, "I think you'll like it." Sarah swallows, unsure of how to respond, and Ellie confesses, "He picked it out with you in mind."

It's official. There's a lump in her throat the size of a walnut. "Ellie," she breathes shakily.

"Oh, right," Ellie chuckles, "Chuck's number."

She waits for Sarah to grab a pen and paper, though she doesn't need them as this number is possibly the most important one in her entire life and she'd sooner die than forget it. Ellie rattles off his home number.

"Thank you so much, Ellie."

"No problem. Keep in touch, okay?"

She sounds hopeful. Sarah hates that a friend she knew almost a year ago can make her feel this way.

After a pause, she promises, "Yeah, I'll try." Her voice is husky, emotional.

"Bye, Sarah."

"Bye."

Suddenly feeling not so strong, she grabs a pillow and squeezes it for support. She punches in each number deliberately and holds the phone to her ear.

Her heart races as it rings.

One, two, three, four rings.

She swallows as the machine picks up.

But it's not his voice she hears.

"You've reached the one-and-only Bartowski pad," Morgan's voice says. "Leave a –"

"He doesn't live here," Chuck interrupts with a laugh. "And technically it's not the one-and-only Bartowski pad, because my sister's still a Bartowski."

"Dude, you're getting technical?" Morgan asks incredulously.

Sarah giggles as she pictures this taking place.

Chuck tries some damage control. "What's up? This is Chuck. Leave a message."

"Is she changing her name, by the way?" Morgan sounds a little too curious.

"Morgan, I don't know," Chuck answers good-naturedly. "She hasn't decided. Go ask her."

Sarah dissolves into a quiet fit of laughter.

"She does know that I've offered to change _my_ name for her, right?"

Chuck's exasperated answer is cut off by the beep, bringing her back to reality. She stops laughing abruptly, covering her mouth with a hand.

And then she hangs up.

She cringes as soon as the phone snaps shut. She had been so ready to talk to him personally that she'd prepared nothing to say to a machine. Machine messages are so impersonal. What could she possibly get across to him through that?

But she's only here for a short while. What other choice does she have? And maybe it'd be easier to say what she needs to say . . .

With a fortifying sigh, she redials.

This time, when the machine beeps, she's ready. She still has no words planned, but he deserves better than a planned speech.

"Hi," she begins shakily.

A deep breath.

Stronger now, she continues, "It's me. . . . I just, I wanted to talk to you. I'm back in D.C. for a few hours. I wanted to check in and see how everything was."

Gosh, is she really this bad at long-distance relationships?

"What I mean," she amends, "is that I really miss you, Chuck, and that I miss hearing your voice. I'm sorry it has to be this way, but it won't be much longer, I promise."

She closes her eyes, taking another breath to fortify herself. In a stronger voice, she says, "Christmas. Give me until Christmas, okay? Can you wait for me until then?"

She curses her cracking voice, but calms herself.

"I love you, Chuck.

"Wait for me. I love you."

As she hangs up a second time, she can imagine him listen to the messages.

Maybe the answering machine's in the kitchen, sitting on the counter next to the coffee machine. He comes in after a long day at work, sets his bag down on a kitchen chair, grabs a can of Coke from the fridge, notices the blinking display on the machine. Curious, he presses the button.

"Two new messages," the voice says.

He listens intently.

The first is just silence. Her silence.

When he realizes nothing will be said, he shrugs and walks into the living room to crash onto the couch. From the couch, he hears the machine beep and go to the next message. As her voice fills his ears, he jumps up and races back into the kitchen, his hands pressed against the counter as he listens closely to her words, her confessions.

And she can clearly picture the grin on his face as he hears those three little words he's been longing to hear, the words she should have told him so long ago.

Two weeks later, she returns to headquarters. As she steps off the elevator and marches to her office, a lower-level employee nervously introduces himself and hands her a letter. The envelope is addressed in scratchy handwriting to:

_SW_

_C/O: D. Graham_

Her heart catches in her chest as she rips it open and pulls out a sheet that's folded once. It reads simply:

_SW,_

_I love you, too. The best present I could ever get would be you coming home._

_Yours,_

_CB_

Despite how imprudent the note is, she smiles and begins to count down the weeks.

**We push and pull  
And I fall down sometimes  
But I'm not letting go  
You hold the other line**

The streets of Prague are thick with people, and Sarah walks with her head up, careful not to bump into anyone. She draws her pea coat more tightly around her, rubbing her arms for heat. The November air is not freezing, but it's cold enough that she can see her breath as she exhales.

She tilts her head, craning her neck to take in the buildings surrounding her, and she decides that she loves this city. She adds it to her mental list, yet another city she needs to take Chuck. The thought of him makes her smile.

She had completed her last CIA mission that morning. By this time tomorrow, she'll be back on American soil. From there, it'll only be a few weeks until she can be discharged from the agency and back in his arms.

A bright display of different colored pashminas in a storefront window draws her attention away. Her smile grows as she enters the shop. Ten minutes later, she's back on the street wearing a brilliant orange scarf and carrying a bag that holds a green one for Ellie Woodcomb.

On a whim, Sarah stops in the middle of the street, inhaling the European air deeply. A car beeps, and, laughing and waving an apology, she runs to the opposite side of the road. She turns onto the Charles Bridge, still chuckling, because even the name is appropriate. It's even more crowded than the streets, filled with artists, musicians, and tourists. She squeezes her way through the people, stopping every once in a while to admire paintings and or music. One guitarist in particular, with fingerless gloves and laming red hair that sticks up from the wind, stands out to her. He shoots her a smile as he begins the song's chorus, and she drops a few bills into his open case.

She wanders down the bridge a little ways, still within hearing distance of the guitarist. Resting her hands on the railing, she leans her upper body over the side of the bridge and gazes into the clear waters of the Vltava River. She's looked at many amazing sights, sights that are supposed to stir something within the viewer, but this is the first time that she feels something beyond herself.

Breathing deeply, she makes a promise to herself – a promise to get better at relationships, a promise to give everything she has to him, a promise to embrace the fear in order to give in to the love.

Because she knows that's the only way their sacrifices will mean anything. 

**'Cause there is a light  
In your eyes  
In your eyes  
There is a light  
In your eyes  
In your eyes**

Carrying only a small book bag holding a few essential belongings and an umbrella to ward off the pounding rain, Sarah rounds the corner and pauses, letting her eyes drink in Chuck's new apartment complex. It's a lot like his old one, complete with a central courtyard. No fountain, though. She'll miss that.

A smile creeps onto her face, and just as she's about to take a step forward, the door opens. His door.

The smile fades when she sees a woman standing next to him. They appear to be saying good night, but she's too far away to hear anything. They share a friendly embrace, and latent jealousy flares up in Sarah.

Putting up her umbrella, the woman takes her leave. Even with the umbrella, she walks hunched against the rain. And she seems to be carrying something, holding her hand gingerly against her chest. Sarah strains her eyes to see her burden. Her jealousy dissipates when her eyes alight up two eggs in the other woman's hands. She walks into a nearby apartment, and Sarah's sense of competition completely dissolves.

Only a neighbor borrowing some eggs.

Turning her gaze back to Chuck, she sees that he's noticed her and is frozen in the doorway.

What happens next passes in a blur. She won't remember how he runs over to her, nearly falling on the slippery cobblestones, she won't remember how the rain seems to pour harder as soon as he launches out of the doorway, and she won't remember the clang of her umbrella as it clatters to the ground. What she will recall is his hands on the sides of her face, his lips crashing into hers, his body pressed up against her. What she'll recall is the need to kiss him until she has no more breath left in her lungs.

But, suddenly needing to hear his voice, she breaks away to murmur softly against his mouth, "Hi."

"Hey," he mutters back in that low, breathy, I've-waited-more-than-a-year-to-kiss-you-like-this kind of voice.

She loves his breath on her lips, she loves the touch of his fingers in her hair, she loves his rain-speckled face, she loves every single nerdy part of him.

Her lips curve into a smile on top of his, and she takes her sin again.

This time it's Chuck who breaks off the kiss, his hands still on the sides of her face, his thumb running over her cheek.

He grins. "What do you say we get out of these wet clothes?"

"I'd say that's the best idea I've heard all day," she replies, returning his grin.

Chuck laughs and lifts her into his arms. Giggling, she wraps her legs around his midsection and touches her forehead to his.

The rain continues to drench them and her umbrella lies forgotten on the cobblestones, but they smile as he carries her inside to a new life. 

**Breathe in  
And breathe out  
Breath in  
And breathe out  
Breathe in  
And breathe out  
Breathe in  
And breathe out**

Sarah traces a circle over Chuck's chest, lightly so as not to wake him. He's been asleep for over an hour, and she's found that there's no better remedy for a heavy heart than watching his rhythmic breathing.

But as her eyes wander over his sprawled-out form, she knows she has no reason to feel the way she does. He's forgiven her. He probably doesn't even realize there's something to forgive. But what if he wakes up tomorrow and wants to know what she's been up to? She's not sure she can handle the deluge of questions. All she wants is be near him.

Feeling a slight chill, she slips out from under the covers and over to the corner of the room where her backpack lays forsaken. Unzipping it quietly, she fishes out his Nerd Herd t-shirt and pulls it over her head, reveling in its warmth. She's amazed but relieved that it's retained his scent after all these months. As she climbs back under the sheets, he stirs, stretching his back.

"Sarah?" he asks, his voice thick with sleep. "Why are you awake?"

She smiles at his disheveled appearance, his hair sticking out at all angles. She's going to love waking up to this each morning.

"No reason. You can go back to sleep."

"Do you need something?"

"No," she shakes her head and cuddles up against him. "Just go back to sleep."

Truthfully, she loves watching him sleep. During her years as an agent, she'd gotten used to unusual sleep schedules, but being next to him in the darkness is calming and intensely reassuring. Having him beside her all night, she knows he'll be there when she wakes. There'll be no surprises, no mission-related excuses, nothing to keep him from her side.

Ever obedient, he closes his eyes. Repositioning himself against her, he mumbles, "Where did you get my shirt?"

A breathy chuckle comes out through her nose, and she whispers in his ear, "I stole it from you last year."

He snorts sleepily. "I thought I lost that. But you can keep it if you like it so much."

"Why, thank you. Much appreciated." She places a few kisses along his jaw line. "Sweet dreams, Chuck."

**Look left  
Look right  
To the moon  
And the night  
Everything under the stars  
Is in your arms**

As punishment for their foray in the rain, both wake up the following morning with vicious colds. Chuck takes off work, and they make chicken soup and spend the day confined to the house. By the second day, they've realized they're in this for the long haul and have settled into a routine.

Their mornings are spent in the den. Chuck surfs the web, watches movies on the internet, and chats with his online community of friends while Sarah curls up in an armchair with a book. One wall of the den is covered in bookshelves, and although at least half of the books are science fiction or fantasy, it provides her with a good selection. She loves that they don't even have to speak. Just being in the same room is enough to make her happy.

After lunch on the second day, he covers her eyes with his hands and then leads her down the hallway. Holding her hands out, she feels the wall as they turn a corner. When he takes his hands from over her eyes, all she sees is an empty room.

She stares. At a loss, she turns back to him, her eyebrows raised.

He chuckles. "This is your room."

"Like, my bedroom?" she asks, quirking a smile. Because if he meant that, she would kill him with her bare hands.

Wrapping his arms around her torso, he places a kiss on the side of her head. "No, silly. Like, your room for whatever you want. You want to fill it with model airplanes? Go right ahead! Or how about Lego sets? I'll help you with that one." She laughs, and he adds, "I didn't need an extra room, and I wanted you to have something of your own."

The comment sobers her. There's so little in this world that actually belongs to her, and no one's ever cared about her enough to give her something of her own, let alone his own heart.

She twists in his arms and cradles his face with one hand. Despite their germs, she kisses him softly.

"Thank you," she whispers.

He smiles, says, "You're welcome," and promptly sneezes, kindly turning his head away and aiming for his sleeve.

She laughs. "God bless you!"

Sniffling, he fishes a tissue from his pocket. "Thanks," he replies, his voice thick.

Her room becomes part of their routine. After lunch, they sit in the middle of the empty room and sift through paint colors and furniture pictures, designing it to perfection, until one or both gets too tired to look at any more decoration plans.

In the evenings, which are really late afternoons to two invalids, he makes two mugs of hot chocolate, complete with whipped cream and a stick of peppermint, while she builds a fire. They dress in their pajamas and wrap themselves in blankets and cuddle on the couch to watch movies. Chuck selects the first movie, and she picks the next. They usually get through a double feature before Sarah falls asleep with her head on Chuck's shoulder.

On the fourth morning of their self-induced quarantine, Sarah walks into the living room, yawning as she scratches her head. Her blond hair is loose and scraggly, and she's dressed in flannel PJs, but, judging from the grin on his face, Chuck doesn't seem to mind too much.

"Ellie called while you were still sleeping." He pauses expectantly, but as she has no idea where he's leading her, she simply falls onto the couch next to him, her fingers idly playing with the cuff of his t-shirt sleeve.

Sensing he's not going to get a guess from her, Chuck continues, the happiness in his voice matching his expression, "One, she's pregnant. Two –"

He never gets out his second piece of news as he's cut off by her squeal of delight. She pounces on him, hugging her arms tightly around his neck.

"Oh, my God!" she shrieks delightedly. "That's amazing! How far along is she?"

He laughs into her neck. "Six weeks or so. I don't know much else, though. I told her to stay away from this den of illness but that we'd stop by next week when we're feeling better to hear the details."

"Oh, Chuck, this is so amazing!" Sarah gushes. "We have to go baby shopping! Just think, Chuck – by this time next year, we'll be Aunt Sarah and Uncle Chuck."

Chuck sticks out his tongue. "Those make us sound so old! But there's no question that we're going to be the cool aunt and uncle." He strokes her hair as his expression grows sober.

She runs a finger down the side of his face. "What is it?"

He gives her a half-smile and admits, "I always thought we'd make kind of cool parents, too."

Smiling, she inclines her head and whispers, "Me, too."

"Yeah?" he asks incredulously, perking up.

"Yeah," she chuckles.

He clears his throat. "I know we've kind of had this unspoken agreement to just figure things out as they come, but what, what exactly do you see for us?"

He's adorable when he's nervous.

"Are you asking me if I want kids?" she asks quietly. Off his erratic nod, she continues, "Yeah, I do, Chuck. I want boys whom we teach to be gentlemen, just like their father. I want girls whom we teach to love themselves for how beautiful they are on the inside. _Achoo_!" She covers the sneeze as best she can.

"God bless you."

"Thank you," she replies almost absentmindedly, sniffles, then quickly continues, "And they will be beautiful. They'll all be beautiful, because they'll be a part of you, a part of us. And I want that so much it hurts." Leaning her forehead against his, she closes her eyes. "You're the first man I've trusted enough . . . whose made me feel secure enough . . . who I can give . . ." she trails off, unsure of how to tell him exactly what he means to her.

He smiles and touches his lips to hers. "I think I know what you're trying to say."

She opens her eyes to look at him in wonder. But she should know him well enough by now that he shouldn't surprise her. "Thank you."

Chuck starts to move away but she restrains him, grabbing him gently by his collar.

"Wait. I've been all over the world during the past fifteen months, and I saw so many things, Chuck. You'll never believe some of the things I saw."

The corners of his mouth twitch. "Can you tell me about them or . . . ?"

She shakes her head. "I can do better. I'll take you there. I want to take you to all the cities I've been, all the places I've seen. And even if millions of people have been there before we have, I want to discover them with you like it's the first time."

"Do you know how amazing that sounds? Jetting around the world with you? Where are we going first? Rome? New Zealand? Jakarta?"

"We'll work our way to Jakarta," she laughs. "But that's what kind of life I see for us."

He smiles, leaning closer. "Sounds perfect."

She doesn't get a chance to agree as he's already captured her lips in a kiss.

**'Cause there is a light  
In your eyes  
In your eyes  
There is a light  
In your eyes  
In your eyes**

Snuggled in the covers, Sarah lies on her side facing Chuck. He's snoring softly, his lips fluttering as he exhales. She trails one finger up his chest and leans closer to place a light kiss on the corner of his mouth.

He stirs, breathing deeply, and groans, "'S'too early."

She chuckles quietly. "It's Christmas Eve morning."

"But how early is it?"

His eyes are still closed, and she takes advantage of this fact to place a kiss on each closed lid. His lips curve into a smile at the contact.

"I want to tell you something," she says.

Chuck opens his eyes, blinking the sleep out of them.

"I trust you."

He looks at her in confusion.

"I trust you," she repeats. "I trust you to take care of me in this world that I know nothing about, just like you trusted me to protect you in my world."

Smiling, he scoots closer to her and gives her a kiss. "I'm glad." With an exaggerated yawn, he says, "I suppose I should get up now anyways. Lots to do, lots to do."

She narrows her eyes at him as he throws back the covers and hops out. "What are you talking about?"

He clears his throat and starts rummaging through his drawers for a clean t-shirt. "Oh, you know. Ellie's got a whole list of things for me to do. You know how she is with holidays." Off her expression, he adds quickly, "Don't worry about it! She wants me to run a few last-minute errands this morning. You just chill. I'll be back by the afternoon and we can get ready. Is that all right?"

She nods, smiling and propping herself up by an elbow to watch him. "Does Ellie need any help?"

"You know Ellie," he laughs.

"Yeah, I do," she concedes with a grin. "I'll go over after breakfast."

"Great," Chuck responds as he throws on a shirt. "Will you be okay for breakfast on your own?"

She lifts an eyebrow.

"Right, right," he laughs. "Stupid question. You've taken care of yourself for the past decade. Why would you not be fine?"

Amused, she's nevertheless touched by his concern. As he's about to go into the bathroom, she calls out, "Chuck."

He turns back, looking expectantly at her. "Yeah?"

Her eyes downcast, she swallows, suddenly nervous. But she looks him in the eyes and is strengthened by the love there. "I'm never leaving you again," she tells him quietly.

He nods, his grin widening. "I know."

Chuck's gone until late afternoon, but she spends most of the day helping Ellie get ready for Christmas Eve dinner. The fact that he's gone doesn't bother her until she returns home to an empty house. When she opens the front door and sees that all the lights are off, her heart falls, and she realizes just how much she's missed him all day. Sighing, she heads to the bathroom for a shower. The hot water comforts her, and she lets her mind unravel.

Twenty minutes later, she emerges from the bathroom, considerably calm. Her eyes light up as she sees him sitting on the bed, flowers in hand.

"I got these for you," he says with a grin as he holds the bouquet towards her. "Kind of an apology for not being here all day."

She takes the flowers from his hand, but immediately sets them down on the covers. With a smile, she climbs onto the bed, one knee on either side of his legs, and wraps her arms around his neck.

"You're sweet," she tells him in a low voice as she massages the back of his neck.

"Thanks," he says, his voice guttural.

Eyes closed, she leans closer, her lips brushing against his. "How much time do we have before we have to be at Ellie's?"

His mouth curves into a smile as he rolls her onto the bed and answers, "Enough."

An hour later, Sarah does her makeup while Chuck irons his shirt in the corner.

Looking at him in the mirror, she says, "I wanted to thank you for letting me into your family." The words tumble out of her mouth, but she's not ashamed of confessing personal feelings, as she once would have been.

He looks up in surprise, a goofy smile on his face. "Are you kidding me? You've been part of this family since day one."

She smiles, sets her mascara down on the dresser. "But I haven't really celebrated holidays since I was a kid. You don't realize how important this is to me."

He stops ironing and looks at her, still wearing his signature lopsided grin. "Ellie and I didn't have much family growing up. We've learned to let the people we do love know that we love them."

Sarah turns back to the mirror, a small, pleased smile on her face. The thought of their large, unconventional family is still in her mind as they make their way to the Woodcombs', crossing the courtyard hand-in-hand. The lights and decorations seem even more festive in the dark, and, mesmerized as she is, she doesn't notice when Chuck abruptly drops her hand.

"I have to tie my shoe," he explains quickly.

Sarah nods absently, but doesn't turn around to wait for him. It's only when Chuck clears his throat that she turns, bringing a hand up to her mouth to cover her gasp.

Chuck is down on one knee, holding open a jewelry box that features a glittering diamond ring.

Sarah questions him silently, shaking her head in disbelief and joy.

He grins. "Sarah Walker, will you marry me?"

She lets out a peal of laughter and sinks against him, wrapping her arms about his neck. "Yes," she whispers before kissing him. "I guess you'll make an honest woman of me yet," she jokes.

He chuckles, sliding the ring onto her finger, and their laughter is punctuated each time their lips meet.

Sighing, he glances at his watch and admits reluctantly, "I think we're late."

She groans, rising from his knee. She loops her arm through his and turns toward the apartment. Ellie meets them at the door with her customary hugs.

"Oh! I'm so glad we can all spend Christmas together!" she squeals.

Sarah smiles as Chuck converses with his sister. She turns to the living room to greet Anna and Morgan.

"Hey, Sarah," Devon calls from the kitchen.

"Hi, Devon. How are you?"

"I'm doing well," he replies, his voice full of infectious laughter. "You thirsty? Why don't you come on in here and we'll fix you up a drink."

She shoots a glance over at Chuck, who has collapsed onto the couch next to Morgan, and heads into the kitchen with a shrug. "Sure, why not?" she says with a smile.

Devon laughs as she comes into the kitchen, but, upon noticing a woman with dirty blond hair pouring wine and mixing drinks at the counter, Sarah stops in her tracks. Even from behind, something about the woman seems incredibly familiar.

Devon clears his throat oddly and exits into the living room.

The blond turns around.

Sarah's eyes widen in shock. "Alethea?"

She laughs, a bright, clear laugh that Sarah still remembers from childhood. "I come all the way from England to see my big sister for Christmas and I don't even get a bloody hug?"

Sarah chuckles and wraps her baby sister in a hug. "Oh, my God! How are you here?" Alethea tries to pull away, but Sarah squeezes tighter, needing an extra minute of contact after so many years apart. "And what are you doing talking with an English accent?"

Sarah finally releases her. Alethea takes the opportunity to catch her breath, running a hand through her hair and smoothing her blouse. "Well, Gram died a few years back, and I just needed a change of scenery."

"Oh, Ally. Grandma?"

Alethea nods, her mouth pursed as she holds back tears. She takes a deep breath. Her voice loses her accent as she continues, "After about eight months, I started to notice that I was speaking differently, and now I can switch in and out. It's kind of fun!"

Sarah shakes her head in wonder. "I still don't understand how you're here."

Leaning against the counter and folding her arms, Ally says, "I got a ring last month from a bloke saying he knew my sister. Said he was your boyfriend. Naturally, I was a little curious. Then he offered to fly me out to L.A. to spend Christmas with everyone. I was skeptical, especially since I hadn't heard from you in so long, but he explained things to me – a lot of things – and after that, how could I resist?"

Sarah stares at the countertop. "What kind of things?" she asks in a small voice.

"Don't worry," Alethea assures her with a smile. "Nothing significant."

Sarah smiles as she listens to the sounds of mingled voices coming from the other room, remarkably content in the presence of her sister.

"Well, hey!" Ally says, breaking the silence. "Let's go join the party!"

They walk into the living side by side, and, as soon as he sees her, Chuck reaches out a hand for her. Grinning, she takes it, falls onto the couch next to him, and curls into him, her left hand against his chest. Alethea takes a seat beside her.

"Thank you," she whispers in Chuck's ear.

He smiles and plays innocent. "For what?"

"For being amazing."

"Oh, that's all," he teases, shrugging off her gratitude. Then he turns to face her fully and gives her a soft kiss. "You're welcome, Sarah," he whispers seriously.

She marvels at him. "I still don't know how you did it."

"Like you said, I'm pretty amazing," he grins, and she smacks him in the shoulder.

"That was the best Christmas gift a girl could ask for," she tells him softly.

He snuggles closer to her and says, "And the best gift I could have gotten was you saying 'yes.'"

She smiles widely and runs her hand up his chest, fully intending to pounce on him here and now. But the conversations around them are broken by a squeal of delight, emanating from Ellie. Sarah, along with everyone else in the room, swiftly turns her head to look at Chuck's sister. Ellie's hands are over her mouth, her eyes radiating glee.

"What's the matter with you, Ellie?" Chuck asks with a laugh.

"Yeah, babe," Devon chimes in, "we know it's Christmas, but I haven't seen you this happy since that night we drank a little too many Mai Tais and discovered that –"

Ellie clamps her hand over his mouth to keep him from completing that sentence.

"Sarah!" Ellie exclaims. "Is that what I think it is?"

Confused, Sarah glances between Ellie and Chuck. "Uh . . ." she says.

"Oh, my God!" Anna interjects. "On your finger!"

Sarah buries her head in Chuck's chest, shaking with laughter. Her cheeks burn as she picks her face up to find the entire group staring at her.

"Yeah, it's kind of a recent happening," she admits.

Chuck laughs, rubbing her back. "Recent, as in, ten minutes ago."

Everyone suddenly erupts into an excited chorus of congratulations and speculations.

"Oh! We have so much to do!" Ellie says. "We have a wedding to plan!"

"We've got a baby to plan for, too!" Sarah counters with a grin.

Devon raises his glass. "Guys, I think this officially qualifies as our most awesome Christmas ever."

The group toasts, their glasses poised in the air against the backdrop of the decorated Christmas tree.

Sarah takes a sip of wine, her heart growing lighter as her gaze roams from person to person. For the first time, she's perfectly happy. Because this is her family.

This is her life.****

There is a light  
In your eyes  
In your eyes  
There is a light  
In your eyes  
In your eyes


	23. I'd Go the Whole Wide World

Song: "(I'd Go the) Whole Wide World," by Wreckless Eric, popularized by the Monkees.

A/N: The idea for this came from the movie _Stranger than Fiction_, which, coincidentally, also stars Tony Hale. It's a great movie. You should check it out, lol. If you want to watch the scene I based it on go to youtube. Here's the rest of the link: /watch?v=aXAKEeYmUus.

I know there have been long waits between chapters/stories, but I've been working on a new, multi-chaptered story that I think you guys are going to like. But I'm waiting to post it so that there will be minimal waits between the chapters. So just hang tight. :)

Disclaimer: If I don't own "Chuck," do you really think there's even a remote possibility of me owning _Stranger than Fiction_? :P

* * *

"We need to be professional," she had told him for the hundredth time. But there's beginning to be something in her eyes that alerts him to the fact that it's all an excuse.

And he's finally gotten up enough courage to call her out on it. After the past couple missions, the past few brushes with death and injury, his relationship with Sarah seems that much more precious.

Time used to seem infinite to him. One day at the Buy More was just like any other day. He had a whole future ahead of him, any future he chose. But it's different now. It's different because his time is no longer his, his life is no longer his and his alone. He knows he's not the greatest spy; he's nowhere close to the caliber of Bryce Larkin. And there's a distinct chance that his life as Chuck Bartowski will be curtailed by his job as the Intersect.

Which means that he's going to do everything he can to have as much time with her as he can.

**When I was a young boy, my momma she said to me:**  
"**There's only one girl in the world for you,****  
And she probably lives in Tahiti,  
Or maybe in the Bahamas,  
Where the Caribbean sea is blue,  
Weepin' away in the tropical night,  
Because nobody's told her 'bout you."**

So that day during his lunch break, Chuck heads across the plaza to the Orange Orange, much like he does everyday. Except today he carries a bundle of flowers in his hand. Before he gets inside, he hides them behind his back, careful that Sarah can't see them as he opens the door to the yogurt shop.

She looks up at the sound of the tinkling bell on the door, and a dazzling smile appears on her face when she sees him.

"Chuck, hey," she greets brightly. "I was beginning to think you weren't coming."

He laughs and glances at his watch. "I'm only seven minutes late."

"Yeah, but you're usually here right at 12:03."

He steps closer to the counter. "I had to pick up something."

She quirks an eyebrow. "Oh?"

With a shy smile, he brings the flowers out from behind his back.

Sarah gasps lightly. "Gardenias?" He nods. "How did you know?"

"I like to think I'm not a completely incompetent spy," he chuckles.

Holding the flowers gingerly, a wistful expression on her face, she replies softly, "No, you're anything but."

Her gaze rises to meet his, and suddenly his heart's pounding in his chest and his mouth's a lot drier than it was a second ago.

"What's the occasion?" she jokes, trying to lighten the atmosphere a bit. Because they always end up falling into these moments where one of them reveals too much.

He swallows and says, "I thought maybe, if you weren't busy this weekend, we could . . . you know, go out."

He takes a deep breath, holding it expectantly, and he can almost see her heart break in her eyes.

"Chuck," she breathes uncertainly.

He braces himself for the inevitable rejection, tries to remember why he hands her his heart again and again when she's already laid down the immovable regulations and he knows she's too stubborn to go against them.

"I'm sorry," she whispers, her voice a little stronger as she adds, "You know there are rules about agents and assets."

Biting his lip moodily, he nods and stares at the countertop. He's tempted to question it for the hundred and first time, to ask why agents can shack up with other agents but not with assets. But, still nodding, he controls his anger and turns to walk out of the shop.

"Yeah, I got it," he mumbles.

"Chuck," she pleads, "don't be like this. Don't be angry with me."

He stops in his tracks, just short of the door, his fingers on the handle. "I'm not angry with you," he confesses softly. Turning around with a sigh, he looks straight at her only to see sadness in her eyes. "I just . . . can you give me one good reason not to go out with me? For real." He adds the last part, because as much as he loves their fake dates, he yearns for the real thing.

Sarah makes a gesture halfway between an elongated shrug and a frustrated sigh. Her mouth open to speak, nothing comes out for a moment until she finally argues somewhat weakly, "There are rules . . ."

He scowls and strides back toward her. "I don't care about the stupid rules, Sarah. All I know . . ." He trails off, aware that he's now leaning over the counter, their faces inches apart. He pauses and shakes his head, his shoulders slumping.

Seemingly speechless, she nonetheless manages to ask in a quiet, breathy voice, "What?"

Chuck looks sharply at her but feels his irritation dissolve as his eyes meets her soft, clear blue ones.

He exhales steadily, taking note of the effect of his proximity on her. But she makes no effort to back away.

"All I know," he says in a low, dangerous voice, "is that I want you."

Sarah doesn't say anything, and their lips are so close that he can almost taste the mint flavor of her Altoid. The desire to kiss her like they have three seconds to live is almost overwhelming, but, with an effort he wasn't aware he possessed, Chuck pulls himself away and walks deliberately toward the exit.

"Yes."

It's soft, almost inaudible. But he hears it, and it's enough to make him stop on his way out for the second time in five minutes. He does stop, turning sideways to throw a questioning glance at her.

She swallows and holds her head a little higher, daring him to refuse her now.

"I said I'll go out with you," she clarifies slowly, her voice still quiet and unsure.

A grin springs unbidden to his face, and her mouth slowly curves into a matching one. He nods and turns to leave, heading back to the Buy More with his heart considerably lighter.

As he jumps off the sidewalk and onto the pavement, he throws a look back at her. She's still standing at the counter, breathing in the scent of the gardenias, that sad, wistful expression in her eyes.

**I'd go the whole wide world  
I'd go the whole wide world  
Just to find her  
I'd go the whole wide world  
I'd go the whole wide world  
To find out where they hide her**

"Win me a stuffed animal."

Chuck has to admit, that's a request he never thought would come out of Sarah Walker's mouth. He looks over with a smile. "Excuse me?"

Her eyes widen in delight, and she tugs him toward a game booth. "Win me a stuffed animal," she repeats.

He glances helplessly at the other carnival-goers tossing sharp-looking darts at balloons attached to the far wall of the booth, trying to pop them with varying degrees of success. His eyebrows rise involuntarily.

"Come on," she urges, happiness laced through her voice, "this is what boyfriends do on dates. They win their girlfriends stuffed animals at carnivals."

Ignoring her carefree use of the terms 'boyfriend' and 'girlfriend', he looks incredulously at her. "You do realize that, while I possess an abundance of skills, absolutely none of them happens to be dart throwing, right?" Clearing his throat, he hopes she gets that hint that dart throwing falls more under her area of expertise.

She grins. "Will you just try? For me?"

And he can't resist that dazzling smile, especially not after she's agreed to go out with him against her sense of professionalism.

"Fine," he says, slapping a five dollar bill down on the counter.

A grumpy-looking, bearded carny in a blue checkered shirt hands him three darts.

"Three? That's all I get? How many balloons do I have to hit?"

"Two, man," the carny replies gruffly.

Chuck takes a deep breath and transfers one of the darts to his right hand. "Okay, I can do this," he mutters to himself.

"Of course you can," Sarah interjects from his left.

He can't help himself and glances over. She gives him another encouraging smile, and he lets the first dart fly. Despite there being a significant number of balloons on the board, it misses by a considerable margin.

"It's okay," Sarah tells him, her hand on his arm. "You still have two."

He rolls his eyes, trying not to think about how ridiculous this is. The second dart manages to somehow hit a balloon, which garners him an enthusiastic display of glee from Sarah. The third dart, however, misses by only an inch or two.

He turns to Sarah, who doesn't bother to hide her disappointment, and puts his hands on her arms.

"I'm sorry," he says, "but I did warn you. Want me to try again?"

She looks up at him, and he's surprised to see the admiration in her eyes. "That's okay," she says with a soft smile. "It's my turn now."

He nods and gives the carny another five.

"Oh, no, they're for the lady," he laughs when he tries to hand him the darts.

The carny chuckles as he hands off the darts. "That right?"

Sarah simply smiles, a wicked gleam in her eye.

Chuck, a little offended at the look in the carny's eye, places his hand on the small of Sarah's back and asks in her ear, "You ready?"

Her lips pursed, she stares intently at the board. "Which ones do you want me to hit?"

Chuck looks. "Those," he says, dragging his index finger in a diagonal as he indicates the intended balloons. They're spaced out, but lying in something resembling a slanting line.

She nods determinedly.

The carnie crosses his arms, tilting his head for his fellow booth-worker to come and watch, but Sarah doesn't need any more preparation time. Her arm flies forward as she launches the projectiles. The three balloons burst simultaneously with a resounding _POP!_, the darts _thunk_-ing into the board.

The first carny blinks. "Did you throw those all at once?"

Sarah smiles enigmatically, but Chuck laughs and says, "I believe the lady deserves a prize."

"Hell, she can have the biggest one here. Which one do you want?"

"I'll take the penguin, please."

He takes down the oversized stuffed animal and hands it to Sarah, who accepts it with a satisfied smile. As they turn to walk down the midway, Chuck loops his arm around her back.

"You're aces, Sarah Walker," he whispers in her ear. "Aces."

**Why am I hanging around in the rain out here,  
Tryin' to think of a girl?  
Why are my eyes fillin' up with these lonely tears  
When there's girls all over the world?  
Or is she lying on a tropical beach somewhere  
Underneath the tropical sun  
Hiding away in the heat wave there  
Hopin' that I won't be long?**

"Wow," Sarah breathes softly, her eyes lighting up as she gazes at the city.

Chuck's not particularly fond of heights, but there's something absolutely breathtaking about being at the pinnacle of a Ferris Wheel. And he'd be a fool to worry about heights when he's sitting next to such a gorgeous woman.

"I've seen many things in my life," she tells him, "but this is one of the best."

He grins, because, even though it's not much, it's something. The look on her face – the openness, the sincerity – gives him enough confidence to slip his arm around her shoulders. For an instant, he's afraid that she'll pull away, but she only sighs and leans closer, allowing them to settle into a more comfortable position.

"I really know how to choose a first date, don't I?" he jokes, thinking back to their original first "date." That hadn't truthfully been his best effort, but at the time, he was still blinded by Sarah's apparent interest in him and couldn't believe she liked him enough to want to go on a second date.

Instead of laughing and teasing him back, though, she leans further into him, her hand resting against his chest, and responds quietly, "Yeah, you sure do."

They lapse into silence, mesmerized by the carnival lights, as the Ferris Wheel descends. He runs a hand up and down her arm, and the back of his hand brushes against her stuffed penguin, sitting on the seat beside her.

Chuckling, he asks, "So what are you going to name him?"

She picks her head up. "Huh?"

"The penguin." He indicates the toy with a nod of his head.

"Oh, I hadn't thought about it. Does a penguin need a name?"

He laughs and rolls his eyes. "Are you kidding me? All stuffed animals, especially those won at carnivals, need names!"

"You're such a dork," Sarah says as she slaps him lightly on the stomach. "So what do you suggest?"

"Hmm . . . Tacky?"

She arches a brow at him. "Tacky?"

"Oh, come on. You've never read _Tacky the Penguin_?"

"Can't say that I have," she chuckles.

"It was like, my favorite book when I was a kid. It's about this crazy penguin who doesn't fit in, but then he ends up saving the penguin . . . colony when a group of hunters try to take it over."

Sarah's look betrays her confusion. "That was your favorite book?"

"Even at four or five years old, I was kind of already a nerd. So a book about non-conformism was right up my alley," he laughs.

She smiles slyly. "So why should I name _my_ penguin after _your_ favorite book?"

Chuck wants to keep the joke, the easy camaraderie, going. But he also sees the truth in her eyes, and he can see where this crazy thing between them could end up.

He takes a deep breath and says, "Because you remind me of him."

She gives a slight shake of the head, as if to ask for clarification.

"Because you're nothing like anyone I've ever met, and I wouldn't have it any other way." He whispers it, almost afraid the words will drift away on the wind. In the cramped gondola of the ride, he finds that it takes all his willpower to keep from kissing her.

Sarah stares at him, stunned, but recovers enough to ask, "You don't want us to be normal?"

Recalling her comment almost a year ago about them being a 'real couple, just a different sort of a couple,' he responds, "If we were, I wouldn't have met you." When she smiles, he has the courage to add with a shrug, "Besides, normal is overrated."

That elicits a laugh, but Chuck sobers up when he thinks of what stage this relationship would be at if she had just been a girl with a broken cell phone, and Bryce's e-mail had just been an apology and a birthday wish, and he had just stayed a slacker nerd on a less-than-ambitious career track.

Her expression grows serious, too, and a faint blush rises to her cheeks. He inclines his head, and to his delight, she doesn't back away. Reaching a hand up to her face, his fingers graze against her cheek. She swallows and closes her eyes, delighting in the feeling. He brushes her hair behind her ear, and thinks he finally has enough courage to kiss her for real when he hears an irritated voice from behind him.

Chuck turns around to find a carny staring at him, his lips pursed in annoyance.

"Hey, buddy," he says in a clipped voice. "You mind getting out so I can keep the ride running efficiently?"

Chuckling nervously, he nods and says, "Yeah, yeah, I'm sorry."

He hops down from the gondola and turns to hand Sarah, who has Tacky the penguin tucked under one arm, out as well. He smiles repentantly at the carny as they return to the midway. Sarah, blushing to her roots, waves an apology at him before turning around and letting out an embarrassed laugh.

Despite her lighthearted reaction, Chuck's heart sinks as they walk past the flashing lights, the bright, colorful rides.

So close. He had been so close.

Just when he hits bottom, he feels her hand slip into his. He glances over at her, heartened when he sees the look on her face.

And she doesn't even have to say anything. Just the pressure of her hand against his is enough to life his spirits.

With her right now, he's on top of the world.

**I'd go the whole wide world  
I'd go the whole wide world  
Just to find her**

Sarah sits down in Chuck's computer chair, leaving him to take a seat on the bed. Considering the circumstances, he thinks the date went fairly well. He was able to keep her laughing _and_ entice her into a fairly serious conversation.

That has to mean something, right?

But now, he fidgets his thumbs awkwardly, unsure of where this night could go. She had agreed to the date, but now she's in his room and he doesn't know what the rules are anymore. He doesn't even know what rules he wants to be breaking right now.

And Sarah's sitting there, a thoughtful smile on her face but a distant look in her eye. Even though she's just in jeans and a blouse, she looks more beautiful tonight than he's ever seen her, because this is all for him. It's not for her job, for a mark; it's because she wanted to look nice for _him_.

The thought makes him grin like a five-year-old.

But she still has that look in her eye.

"Sarah?" he calls, waving a hand in front of her eyes. "Sarah Walker?"

She pulls back to the present with a smile, her eyes refocusing, and he chuckles.

"Where'd you go?" he asks.

Instead of responding, she gets up and walks to the other side of the room. She picks up the guitar on the chair, the one he keeps around out of habit, the one he fiddles around on every few weeks, the one he hasn't played seriously in years.

"Will you play me a song?" she requests cheekily.

Incredulous, he shakes his head. "Are you kidding me? I haven't played that thing in forever."

Sarah's smile grows.

He slaps his thighs and leans back. "Seriously? That's really what you want?"

Laughing, she hands him the instrument.

"All right," he says, breathing deeply and looping the strap around his head and shoulder. "If you say so."

Satisfied, she retreats to the desk, leans against it, and crosses her arms.

The trouble is that he can only recall a few songs in their entirety. After a few experimental strums, he goes with the easiest one, one that he hopes she'll be familiar with.

"When I was a young boy, my momma she said to me," he sings timidly, taking a few measures to sync his strums with his voice. "There's only one girl in the world for you, and she probably lives in Tahiti."

When he gets to the chorus, he's relieved to see that Sarah recognizes the song. She even sings along to it softly. But as he heads into the second verse, he closes his eyes, too caught up in playing and singing to pay attention to his surroundings.

This obliviousness explains his surprise when he suddenly feels Sarah's lips against his own, when he feels her arms reaching around his neck, her fingers bunching in his hair. If he weren't so focused on her, he would laugh at the ridiculousness of the scene, because the guitar's still squished between them, a barrier that neither of them wants.

He tries to shove it off his lap, but the strap's still around his head and he almost throws himself off the bed.

Giggling, Sarah pulls away long enough to allow him to slip off the strap and set the guitar roughly on the ground. The neck's barely out of his hand when she presses herself against him again, knocking the breath right out of him. The sensation is beyond anything he's felt before, and it's definitely one he could get used to.

Between kisses, he stammers, "Sarah . . . Sarah, I –"

Her hand on the side of his face, she breathes, "I know – I want you, too."

He's prepared for it this time, for the overwhelming crush of her body, and by now he's over the shock enough to respond by wrapping his arms tightly around her waist.  
Straddling him, she lifts herself up a little on her knees, causing them to be ever-so-slightly top-heavy and sending them toppling backwards.

The mishap and hilarity that result barely faze Sarah, and he scarcely has time to catch his breath before they're fused again.

Yeah, he could definitely get used to this.

**I'd go the whole wide world  
I'd go the whole wide world  
To find out where they hide her**

Lying beside her, Chuck decides that no matter what she says, he can't give her up. She's the best thing to ever happen to him, even if he doesn't know any particulars about her, even if she knows only a world that's the complete opposite of his, even if there are things she's done that would make his insides squirm.

He suspects that this misgiving makes up part of her hesitancy, that she thinks his feelings for her would change if he were ever to find out about her past. But he's had flashes on her, a while ago now, true, and they were petrifying at the time, but if he figures if he's seen one, he's seen them all.

So she's done bad things.

But he knows Sarah, and she's not a bad person.

He quirks a half-smile as she mumbles in her sleep and blesses the moonlight that filters through the blinds to illuminate her face.

And, watching her, in the middle of the dark night, Chuck makes himself a promise to do everything in his power to make her feel comfortable enough to admit that she wants this, too.

As he thinks this, Sarah stirs, turning half-consciously onto her side to face him. Her eyes blink groggily.

"Chuck?" she asks, her voice gravelly from sleep.

"Mmm?"

Her hand is warm against his chest, and the smell of her hair is too heavenly for just one deep inhalation.

"Why are you awake?"

He purses his lips in consternation. Can he tell her? Can he tell her that he one hundred percent expects her to wake up in the morning and run away from him as fast as possible, and that he's terrified by that?

She brings a hand up to his cheek, forcing him to look at her. Even in the darkness, her soft smile never fails to dazzle him. "What is it?" she asks, and the concern in her eyes is real.

"I just," he confesses in a whisper, "I had this terrible thought that you'd wake up and immediately think that this was a mistake. I didn't want to wake up and find you gone."

_Forever_, he doesn't feel the need to add.

He stops, watching for a reaction.

Lacing her fingers into his curls, Sarah replies quietly, "Honestly?" He nods, and she confesses, "I should."

He lets out a breath, willing this conversation to take a different turn.

"I _should_ tell you that this whole thing between us is a mistake," she continues, her voice cracking. "But I can't. You mean too much to me, and now we can't go back. _I_ can't go back to how we were."

He would laugh out loud if the confession didn't seem so somber. As such, he settles for a grin and presses his forehead against hers.

As he wraps his arms around her, she murmurs sleepily, "How could I think of leaving you when you're so warm and comfy?"

He lets out a chuckle, his breath sending strands of her hair afloat. "That's right. I'm like your soft, downy duvet in the middle of winter, ready to wrap you up in comfort."

She snorts. The occasion is so unexpected that he opens his eyes in wonder, making sure he heard correctly. As she's curled against his chest, her eyes shut, she doesn't notice his awe and amusement.

"Could you be any cheesier?" she teases in a whisper.

Placing a kiss on the edge of her eyebrow, he mutters, "You wouldn't like me half so well if I weren't."

She mumbles a reply in the affirmative, and they settle in to fall back asleep.

And right before he drifts off, he hears her whisper, "I love you," in his ear.

**I'd go the whole wide world  
I'd go the whole wide world  
Just to find her **

Chuck paces in the back lot of the apartment complex with his hands in his pockets, glancing up every once in a while at Sarah, who's coolly leaning against the Nerd Herder, sipping her morning coffee.

"Will you calm down?" she requests with a smile.

He stops in his tracks, his Converses halting with a _slap_, and stares at her. "What if he knows?"

She rolls her eyes. "I already told you – he doesn't record when I'm over."

"What if he just told you that to make you less suspicious?" He narrows his eyebrows, trying to make her take the question seriously, but all he gets is an amused, exasperated sigh.

Sarah sets her coffee cup on the roof of the car and walks towards him, taking his hands in her own. "For one thing," she says, looking directly at him and taking on a slightly condescending tone, "the bugs are to protect you. If I'm there, obviously that's already taken care of. Two, listening to the recordings means more work for Casey. And he doesn't like that if it means listening to eight hours of you snoring."

Chuck starts to nod. "Hey, I don't snore!"

She smirks and walks back to the car with a dismissive wave. "Yeah, yeah."

He laughs in spite of himself, trying to keep his eyes at a decent level as she saunters. And he had thought the Weinerlicious outfit was bad . . .

"Wait," he says, and Sarah turns. "What are we going to do if he finds out?"

No matter how many times she smiles at him, he finds it as disarming as the first time.

"Remember when I said we'd take it one day at a time?"

"Yeah."

She chuckles. "Well, we'll take it one day at a time. Besides, he may not even care."

Chuck frowns. After the fuss she's made about agent-asset rules, he's pretty sure Casey's feelings about their relationship won't exactly fall under the 'not caring' category.

"Hey, come here," she says as she leans against the Herder and pulls him towards her.

He can't stop his lips from twisting into a smile as she wraps one arm around his waist and tangles the fingers of her other hand in his hair. And who cares if his nicely-fixed hair will be all messed up for work when her touch feels so _good_? His eyes drift shut as he loses himself in her.

"I know you said you didn't care about being normal, but I know that you still want it sometimes." She pauses, her fingers curling slowly. "I'm sorry I can't give you that, but I promise to give you everything I have."

Opening his eyes, he quirks a smile. It means to world to him that she would try to meet him in the middle.

"We don't have to normal," he tells her. "We just have to be us."

And he's suddenly aware that she's maneuvered them into a position that's extremely conducive to kissing. So, leaning a forearm against the car door, he inclines his head a few inches to close the gap between their mouths.

Before he can prove his prowess in that particular area, a grunt cuts through the morning air and they break apart. Chuck turns his head to see Casey, clutching his Buy More backpack, standing there with one eyebrow raised.

"And good morning to you, too, Casey," he greets, silently cursing that tendency his voice has to get squeaky and ridiculous when he's nervous.

Sarah, holding back a laugh, tugs on his shirt.

"'Morning, Bartowksi, Walker," the NSA agent rumbles, nodding to each in turn before heading towards the backseat.

She smiles and inclines her head. "Casey."

Casey opens the backdoor of the Herder and tosses in his pack. He pauses, turns to glare at them, and says, "Just keep it out of the missions." Before either Chuck or Sarah can respond, he disappears into the car.

Chuck raises his eyebrows at Sarah, who's red in the face with amusement.

"It's not funny," he insists. But he's unable to keep the hint of laughter out of his voice, and Sarah can see right through him.

"Yes, it is," she insists, slapping his chest. "Because you were _so_ worried!"

He purses his lips. "I was trying to look out for us."

"That you were, and I appreciate it." She gives him a peck on the lips and pushes him so they're no longer leaning against the car. "Now let's go. You and Casey are going to be late for work."

He heads around the front of the car, but stops and looks at her from across the hood. "What do you think he meant by 'keep it out of the missions'?"

Sarah grabs her coffee from the top of the Herder and smiles devilishly at him. "That means that you have to listen to me."

"When you tell me to stay in the car?"

"Mmm-hmm, and when I tell you to be my soft, downy duvet," she teases.

Her eyes twinkling, she slides into the passenger's seat. And even though he knows she's just making fun of him, he also understands what else she's telling him. Imagining days and nights to come, he momentarily forgets where he is, and Sarah has to smack the windshield to bring him back to the present.

No, this is going to be nothing like his past relationships. But he's fine with that.

More than fine, really.

**I'd go the whole wide world  
I'd go the whole wide world  
To find out where they hide her**


	24. In Praise of the Vulnerable Man

Song: "In Praise of the Vulnerable Man," by Alanis Morissette.

A/N: This is pretty much nonsense fluff, lol. Hope you enjoy it. Also, I'm planning for the next two chapters to be Christmas chapters, so I'm going to put off some other stories (_Seven Times_, _S&S_) in favor of trying to get those out before the holiday!

**

* * *

You are the bravest man I've ever met****  
You, unreluctant at treacherous ledge  
****Oh, you are the sexiest man I've ever been with  
Oh, you, never hotter than with armor spent**

A low laugh escapes Sarah's throat as Chuck inclines his head towards her, a grin on his face. She places a hand on his chest, holding him a few inches away.

"Hold on there, big guy," she smiles.

He gives her a pleading look.

She chuckles again. "Maybe I want to watch the movie."

And, with impeccable timing, the outdoor screen bursts to life as the movie begins to roll. He grumbles good-naturedly but settles into a more comfortable position on the blanket and takes her into his arms. Chuck surprised her by taking her to a movie in the park, and she'd rather not put off the rest of the crowd by indulging in one of their intense make-out sessions.

She turns around to kiss his cheek, and he perks up a bit at the gesture, resting his chin on her shoulder and giving her torso a squeeze.

Sarah lets out a soft, contented sigh. Two years ago, she thought this feeling was out of reach. A shy smile creeps onto her face as she recalls all the obstacles and complications they've to overcome in order to get to this stage in their relationship. But, letting the movie take her mind off of other things, she relaxes against him.

Forty minutes into the film, Chuck shifts behind her.

"No, no, no," he murmurs agitatedly. "Not right now. Please not now."

Her heart drops instantly. She knows that voice. He's flashed on someone. She allows herself only a second of disappointment before she reverts to agent mode.

Twisting in his lap, she takes his face between her hands.

"What'd you see, Chuck?" she asks quietly, grateful that her serious tone forces him to look her in the eye.

Swallowing, he replies, "You see that guy who just sat down by the trees over there?" He indicates the man with a jerk of his head, and she nods. "That's Ralph Ralston. Big time drug smuggler."

Watching Ralston, she threads her fingers into Chuck's hair in an attempt to calm him. "That his family?"

"Looks like it."

She sighs, perturbed. Why do bad guys always have to be family men? Focusing her attention back on Chuck, she notices the disappointment in his eyes and says softly, "Hey. This is fine. I'm just going to go to the bathroom and call it in, okay?"

He purses his lips. "Are you going to be all right?"

Chuckling, she asks, "Going to the bathroom? It's fifty feet away, Chuck. You can watch me the whole way there." She gives him a soft kiss on the lips and lowers her voice before adding, "Besides, I've got knives in my boot and a gun in my purse. I think I'll be fine."

He smiles slightly. "Okay. Just hurry."

She runs a hand through his hair once more. "I know you're disappointed, but it's probably nothing. At the most, they'll have us do some recon, that's all."

Chuck nods but doesn't say a word.

Sarah kisses him again. "I'm sorry."

She grabs her purse and walks toward the bathroom, looking back at him. His shoulders are slumped, his frustration telegraphed by his body language. She hates doing this to him, but they had made an agreement when they began dating – national security before romance. That's just the way a spy's life is.

Once near the bathroom, she calls in the incident. To her dismay, the Director orders her and Chuck to tail Ralston until the DEA can take over the case, which will most likely be the rest of the evening. And if he flashes on anything else, she's to call right away, alerting Casey for backup.

She sighs as the night's plans escape on the breeze.

Returning to the blanket, she plasters a smile on her face before sitting down next to Chuck, who is predictably not happy with the news, but tries to hide it. She gives him a kiss on the cheek to let him know that she doesn't like this either, but he doesn't seem appeased. Luckily, Ralston stays with his family for the remainder of the movie, and they're able to sneak in some semblance of normalcy.

They catch another break when he goes home with his family, too, and stays there the rest of the night. The recon is a bust, and both of them are in bad moods when they return to Chuck's apartment at close to two in the morning. While he's in the bathroom brushing his teeth, Sarah calls in their lack of findings and learns that the DEA can take over the case the next morning.

Snapping the phone shut, she heaves a sigh and falls face first onto the bed. She loves her job, but there's a reason spies don't have personal lives.

He walks in without a word, and she tilts her head to watch as he changes into a pair of pajama bottoms. He sits down next to her. Smiling softly, she looks up sleepily at him, the darkness of the room casting shadows on his face.

"You're exhausted," he says quietly.

Closing her eyes, she merely nods.

He sighs and scoots his arms beneath her. "All right," he breathes, "let's get you to bed."

And, in typical Chuck Bartowski fashion, he folds down the covers and tucks her in, sidling up against her. They lie there in silence, Sarah trying to figure out something to say. She's not good as this, never has been. She knows he's upset and she's sorry that their lives make him feel that way, so why can't she find the words to express that?

After a few minutes, she whispers, "I am sorry, you know."

"Hmm?" he murmurs, and she's certain that he'd almost been asleep. "For what?"

She lets another stretch of silence linger before answering. "For the way our lives are."

Breathing deeply, Chuck props himself up and leans over her. She turns her head, but not enough to look him in the eye. His arm on her waist, he gives her a little nudge, forcing her to turn on her back and look at him.

"Hey," he says, his voice quiet but firm, "don't ever apologize for what you do or for who you are."

The edges of her mouth quirk upwards, but she can't ignore that awful feeling inside. "I just hate that it makes us like this."

Inclining his head, he smiles. "I know you do, but I love our life." She shoots him an incredulous look, and he continues with a chuckle, "Yes, it's scary and it's demanding and it's frustrating. And yes, I wish we could just take a couple days off sometimes." He pauses to moisten his lips and swallow. A bit nervously, he confesses, "But if this weren't my life, you wouldn't be in it. I'd still be the schnook at the Buy More with no prospects and you'd still be the stunning CIA agent jetting around the world kicking ass." He quirks a smile. "We're so much better together, don't you think?"

She reaches a hand to the back of his neck, twirling the ends of his hair with her forefinger. "I do. We make an excellent team."

"Me, too," he chuckles before closing the small gap between them.

**When you do what you do to provide  
How you land in the soft as you fortify**

Sarah walks with a smile into the Buy More. Every time she comes in, she's struck by the realization that Chuck doesn't belong in a place like this. He deserves so much more. But until he figures that out – or until the government no longer needs this as a cover – he'll slave away behind that silly Nerd Herd desk.

Shaking her head, she approaches the desk. She doesn't have to wait for him to notice her, because he always seems to do so within a second of her stepping into the store. It's just one of the things she loves about him. And it's just one of the many pieces of evidences to show how close they've grown over the past two years. If she's in a crowded room and he walks in, she can do the same thing – pick him out within a second or two. They're attuned to each other now, an aspect of their relationship that's come in handy on missions more than once.

He grins as she reaches the desk. She stands on her tiptoes, leaning over for a kiss. It's short, but it's sweet, and that's all that matters to her.

After the kiss ends, she moves her lips near his ears and whispers, "I need to talk to you." Clearing her throat, she adds, "It's an emergency."

He frowns, and she's close enough to feel the aggravation radiating off of him.

"Can't you ever just be here to see me? Remember me? Your boyfriend."

"Of course," Sarah smiles. "Just not today."

Chuck comes out from behind the desk and reluctantly allows her to lead him over to the basement of the Orange Orange, where they receive the details of their new mission from the General. He's not openly rude, but Casey takes enjoyment in kicking him in the shin under the table to keep him attentive. Chuck endures it with a silent grimace the first time, but the second time, he appeals to her, his eyebrows raised in helplessness. Though she feels bad for him, she can't help but smirk a little. Then, ever the peacekeeper between those two imbeciles, she shoots Casey a warning look, and he stops the antagonism.

The mission, unexpectedly, goes off without a hitch, and Sarah waltzes happily into the Buy More the next day, still feeling the thrill of success. Once again, Chuck looks up as soon as she's through the sliding glass doors, and a bright grin springs to his face when he sees her. He tosses the folder he's perusing onto the desk and walks out into the open, meeting her halfway down the main aisle.

She greets him with a short, soft kiss on the lips, satisfied when she feels his arm slide slowly around her waist.

"What are you doing here?" he asks quietly, a smile on his lips. "Not that I'm not happy to see you, but don't you have better things to do on your day off?"

She chuckles. "I was on my way back from lunch with Ellie, and I thought I'd stop in for a few minutes. Also –" She holds up a takeout bag. "- I brought some dessert for you and Morgan."

Laughing, he asks, "Seriously? Morgan, too? What kind?"

"Cheesecake." She smiles, lacing her fingers with his.

"Oh, geeze, Morgan's gonna love you."

She laughs again, inching closer to him. "Think you can take your break now?"

He leans in for another kiss, whispering just before their lips meet, "Mmmm, you bet I can."

Chuck leads her toward the break room, calling to Morgan along the way.

"Yo, Morg! Dessert!"

Morgan rushes over in a blur of green. "What? Where?"

Chuck takes one of the cake boxes out of the bag and hands it to his friend with a laugh. "Cheesecake. Go crazy."

"Dude, where –"

Chuck points at Sarah. "All her doing, my friend."

Morgan's eyes widen in admiration. "Sarah, honestly," he says ecstatically, "you are so good to me. Between you and Ellie, I'm in gastronomical heaven all the time!"

"If you've taught me one thing, Morgan," she chuckles, "it's that a way to a man's heart is through his best friend's stomach."

Morgan thanks her with a laugh and kisses her on the cheek before rushing off, the dessert delicately poised in both of his hands.

Once in the break room, they sit down at a table. Chuck smiles politely at the two green shirts in the room, and they make a courteous but hasty retreat. Chuck raises his eyebrows at her; she just laughs lightly. She admires the way his fellow workers look up to him, even though he's not always comfortable with the attention.

"So," she says as he takes the cake and two forks out of the bag, "I thought we could do something tonight."

He smiles, popping open the lid of the container. "I'd like that. Did you have anything in mind?"

"I don't know," she shrugs. "How about just staying in? We can order takeout, watch a movie."

He chuckles as he digs into the cheesecake. "You know what I love about you? You're the lowest maintenance girlfriend I've ever had."

"Gee, thanks, Chuck," she says dryly.

"Trust me, that's a good thing."

And he offers her a heaping mouthful of cake, holding the fork towards her. Eyes sparkling with amusement, she accepts the offering while trying to hide the giggle that rises to her throat. Truthfully, she doesn't mind the remark. Because she would be perfectly content staring at a blank wall if it meant spending time with him. She'd rather not share him with the world just yet.

"What kind of movie are you in the mood for?" he asks, smiling.

She leans toward him, enjoying being able to get this close to him without any repercussions, without anyone watching or caring. "Mmm," she purrs, "what do you want to watch?"

That draws a laugh from Chuck, and he gives her a peck on the lips before she leans back in her chair.

"So if I suggested that we watch all three _Lord of the Rings_, you'd be game?" he asks, one eyebrow cocked in an unspoken challenge.

Sarah's expression never falters. "Totally."

He looks at her for a moment, his gaze almost wistful, before saying quietly, "You really are good to me."

Though she knows he's trying to be serious, she can't help but laugh out loud. "And don't you forget it, mister!"

Chuck breaks into a grin, and he leans closer for another kiss.

His half-hour break goes by too fast, and he's walking her out all too soon. Near the doors, she winds an arm around his waist and grabs his tie with her other hand, pulling him down for a kiss. After a few seconds, she feels as if they're being watched. Breaking away from him slowly, she turns her head to see Jeff and Lester staring at them, their arms crossed, their faces shining with mixed amusement and admiration.

"Guys . . ." Chuck says warily.

"Oh, carry on, carry on," Lester advises.

Sarah stifles a laugh and looks up at Chuck, amused.

"That's okay," replies Chuck. "I think we're good actually."

"Yeah," she adds, "I was just leaving anyways."

She swears Lester pouts.

"Oh," he says sadly. "That's a shame."

Chuck laughs nervously. "You guys mind if I say goodbye?"

"Not at all," Lester laughs. "Not. At. All, my friend."

"Go for it, bud," Jeff intones.

Chuck raises his eyebrows until Jeff and Lester get the hint. It takes a few seconds.

"Oh! Oh, right!" says Lester, his voice high and chittery like it is when he gets nervous. "Of course, man. Get to it!"

The two turn and make a retreat to the Nerd Herd desk. Chuck turns back to Sarah with a sigh. She chuckles, running a hand up his chest.

"Thanks for stopping in today," he says quietly. "I'm really happy you came by, and not just because of the cheesecake."

She gives him a peck on the lips. "No problem. You deserve to know how much I appreciate you." His lips quirk into a goofy half-smile. She continues with a smile, "And I believe I owed my real boyfriend a visit for reasons other than national security."

"That you did," he chuckles.

"See you tonight," Sarah says softly.

"_Lord of the Rings_, right?" he smirks.

"You betcha," she replies, completely serious.

She kisses him again before pulling away. He holds onto her hand for as long as he can, and she hears him say, "I love you," quietly, just as she's walking through the doors. She turns, taking a few steps backward and looking at him through the glass doors.

Holding up her hand in a wave, she smiles and mouths, "Love you, too."

**This is in praise of the vulnerable man  
Why won't you lead the rest of your cavalry home?**

She moves a hand down Chuck's chest as he gently captures her lips again. She loves the comforting weight of his body on hers, loves the reassuring touch of his lips against hers. As much as she enjoys simply being with him, she has to admit that the physical aspect of their relationship is even more satisfying than she had expected. For such a nerd, he's got some expertise in the bedroom.

Her hand drifts down to the hem of his t-shirt. Getting the hint, he moves away to quickly strip off the maddening material before gravitating back towards her. There's an annoying creak from the other side of the room, but, too wrapped up in Chuck, she doesn't pay it much heed.

Until Chuck suddenly detaches his lips from hers.

Groaning, he buries his head in her shoulder.

"Morgan!" he warns in a deadly voice.

"Yeah, got it buddy!" his diminutive friend replies. "I'll just see you at work tomorrow."

Sarah stifles a laugh as she watches Morgan scurry out the window, sending a wave over his shoulder. Smiling, she brushes her fingers through Chuck's hair in an attempt to soothe his bad temper. With a heavy sigh, he rolls over and sits up to pull on his t-shirt.

"Oh, come on, Chuck," she pleads as he stands up and walks moodily around the foot of the bed. "He's gone now."

He scowls. "But next time it'll be Ellie, or Awesome." Making a face, he adds, "Or the very worst – Casey!"

She snags him by the hand as he passes and pulls him down next to her again. Propping herself on her elbows, she meets him halfway.

"Hey," she says softly, snaking a hand up around his neck. "I know the past few weeks have been rough, but just trust me okay?"

Chuck frowns petulantly.

She chuckles and gives him a peck on the lips. "Fine," she whispers, "if you're not going to trust me, how about you move in with me?"

His eyebrows shoot up. "Are you serious? Wha-what about Casey? What about security . . . things?"

"I think I can handle looking after you, Mr. Intersect. And Casey would appreciate the demotion."

Chuck stares at her for a moment before breaking out into a wide grin. "Yeah," he says thoughtfully. "Yeah, I think that'd be good."

She quirks a smile at him. Because only Chuck would have to think about it. And even though she'd rather him jump at the prospect, she doesn't mind that he has to mull it over before agreeing.

He tilts his head, his gaze slightly unfocused as he stares at the wall. "Where should we live?"

He sounds so confused that she has to laugh.

"What?" he asks with a smile. "It's a legitimate question!"

"I know it is," she chuckles, wrapping her arms around his neck. "You just seemed to be stumped."

"Well, we can't live in my room here, you know. And your hotel room's a little cramped."

Closing her eyes, she rests her forehead against his. "We'll find a place. Don't worry."

He sighs. "Somewhere private?"

"Yep."

"Somewhere we won't be interrupted?"

"Mm-hmm," she agrees softly. "Somewhere with locks."

"Which we can use to lock people _out_."

Her lips curve into a grin just in time for him to claim another kiss.

**You, with your eyes mix strength with abandon****  
You, with your new kind of heroism  
And I bow, and I bow down to you  
To the grace that it takes to melt on through**

Sarah arrives at his apartment late one night to find him dozing on the couch, the classified section of the newspaper spread out next to him. She smiles when she notes that a few entries are marked in red. They've had very little luck apartment hunting during the past few weeks. Even if they managed to find a semi-reasonable one, there was always something, always one little thing, that was wrong with it. Either it was too far away from Ellie and Awesome, or it wasn't close to the right comic book shop (that was Morgan's objection to one apartment), or the rules were too strict (quiet hours after 10 P.M., bad for Chuck/Morgan video game nights or even movie nights in general). She sighs, ever hopeful that they'll find a suitable one soon enough.

She flops down next to him on the couch, startling him awake.

"Hey," he murmurs, rubbing his eyes. "How was Casey's?"

She shrugs. "The usual. Paperwork's not too exciting, but it needs to be done."

He grunts, and she picks up a sheet of newspaper, glancing over the apartment listings.

"Anything good?" she asks.

Grimacing, Chuck leans his head back to stare at the ceiling.

"Hey," she says, poking him in the shoulder, "what's wrong?"

He picks his head up to look at her again, frowning. "We better find an apartment soon, because we've been dating for five months now and we never seem to have any privacy. Or even time together, for that matter."

If Chuck were any other guy, she'd make an excuse about the facts of living with the CIA, of falling in love with an agent, but he deserves more than that.

She's about to apologize, to say something, when he exclaims suddenly, "Not even our cars!" and she assumes he's still talking about the privacy issue.

Smiling slightly, she thinks she knows what's got him so upset.

_Sarah helps Chuck struggle out of his t-shirt before pulling him flush against her, her arms wrapped around his neck, her fingers tangled in his hair. He smashes his lips against hers, and she responds hungrily, egged on by the adrenaline that comes from sneaking around, even if it's only to the car for a little alone time. _

_Her phone, lying forgotten by her purse and his rumpled-up t-shirt on the floor of the car, rings piercingly. Both she and Chuck turn to look at the cell, its screen lit up. He blanches, his mouth agape. Gently, she puts her fingers on his jaw and pulls his face back toward her._

"_Ignore it," she whispers huskily. _

_He moves a hand to the side of her face, caressing her cheek lightly, and sweetly captures her lips again. She runs a hand up his chest, suddenly wanting him, _needing_ him more than she can express. _

_The car is awkward and cramped and Chuck's legs can barely fit in the backseat, but it provides them with at least the semblance of seclusion, and that's enough for her. They haven't gotten nearly enough time together these past few weeks, and they're both aggravated, she knows that. And what could be better for releasing tension than a little make-out session in the back seat of a _Nerd Herder_? _

_She has to laugh at the ridiculousness of the situation, breaking off the kiss. Lifting his head for a moment, he grins down at her, a bit out of breath, and she takes the opportunity to undo his belt. _

_He laughs unevenly, still smiling. "Do we have time?" he asks, but he's already peppering kisses along her neck. _

"_Aw, Jesus, Bartowski! Can't you schedule your fraternization time for when we _don't_ have business with the higher ups?"_

_Chuck jerks his head up at the voice, and Sarah cranes her neck to look out the window, only to see Casey, shaking his head in disgust before he stalks away. When he's a reasonable distance away, she bursts into laughter at the sight of Chuck's cheeks burning bright red. _

Sarah stifles a chuckle as she thinks of that afternoon. She turns to Chuck and says, "I'm sorry. That was my fault for not answering my phone."

Exasperated, he shakes her off. "No, it's my stupid watch. It's –"

"Entirely necessary," she cuts him off before he gets the desire to rip off the GPS watch and bash it with a hammer.

And it is necessary, even though she had been ready to chuck it out the window when Casey had caught them in their, _ahem_, compromised position earlier. Their only salvation was that Casey hadn't waited and come a few minutes later.

He sighs, the ghost of a smile on his face, and leans into her. His arm snakes around her waist, holding her loosely.

"I'm sorry," she murmurs, "but you know it is." With a chuckle, she adds, "Maybe if you didn't get in trouble so much, it wouldn't be so necessary."

He laughs, his breath blowing a few loose strands of her hair. She runs a hand through his lush curls, smiling to herself because she's the only one who gets to touch him like this.

"You tired?" she asks softly.

"Mmm-hmm," he groans.

"Time for bed then." She kisses him on the temple and pulls him up off the couch, pointing him down the hallway toward his bedroom.

And even though he's usually exhausted beyond belief, she loves this time of the day, the time when she gets to snuggle up next to him and sleep in his arms, forgetting all the worries she carries around all day.

**This is in praise of the vulnerable man  
Why don't you lead the rest of your cavalry home?  
This is a thank you for letting me in  
Indeed in praise of the vulnerable man**

Except when she wakes up the next day and reaches out for him, her eyes still closed, the bed's strangely cold. She sits up with a sigh and opens her eyes, finding only an empty room. Letting out a low growl of irritation, she tosses the covers off and climbs out of bed. She makes her way over to the dresses, shielding her eyes from the early morning sun, and rummages through her drawer for some clean clothes. She changes into a t-shirt and jeans before emerging into the hallway and walking down to the kitchen.

Ellie and Devon, both dressed in scrubs, are eating cereal at the dining room table.

"Oh, hey!" Ellie says brightly as she looks up. "Good morning!"

Devon smiles. "Morning, Sarah."

"Morning, guys."

"Do you want some cereal?" offers Ellie.

Sarah shakes her head. "No, thanks. Mind if I grab some coffee, though?"

"No, no! Let me get that for you, Sarah," Devon offers as he stands up and heads into the kitchen.

"Thanks, Devon," Sarah says, taking a seat across from Ellie. Addressing her, she asks, "Do you have any idea where Chuck is? He doesn't have work until later and he was gone when I woke up."

Ellie looks up from her cereal. "He left a little while ago, but he said he'd be back soon."

"Oh," Sarah says, nodding her thanks at Devon as he hands her a mug of coffee, "well, since he's out, do you have a few minutes?"

"Sure," Ellie nods, "we don't have to leave for work for another half-hour."

Sarah smiles. "Great. I was wondering if I could talk to you about Chuck, actually."

"What about the Chuckster?" Devon asks. Leaning close, he continues conspiratorially, "Do you need me to give him another pep talk?"

"Devon!" Ellie covers her eyes, slightly mortified.

"No," laughs Sarah, "we're . . . solid in that department," and that draws another wide grin from Awesome and a shyer, happy smile from Ellie. "But you've probably noticed that he's been a little . . . frustrated these past couple weeks. Our date plans keep going awry, we never seem to have much alone time, and to top it all off, we're having a really tough time finding an apartment that we both like." She pauses, because she's not used to laying out all her problems like this. She tries to explain it, to ask for advice, but her words come out slowly, almost stunted, as she searches for the right way to say it. "So, I was thinking about taking him on a trip somewhere. You know, just to get away from things for a bit."

"Oh, Sarah!" Ellie squeals. "That's so sweet!"

She smiles. "Yeah, but I don't really know where to take him. I thought you'd know what kind of places he likes, or if he likes any city in particular."

Devon chuckles confidently. "That's easy. Take him to Vegas, get in a few nights of gambling and debauchery and Chuck will be so unwound he won't be able to –"

"You know what, babe?" Ellie interrupts smoothly. "I think I've got this one." She turns back to Sarah. "Did you have any ideas?"

She shrugs. "Mexico?" she suggests, and her tone of voice gives away that it was only a half-baked thought in the first place. One glance at Ellie's face and she bursts out laughing, and the brunette readily joins in.

"Can you picture Chuck in Mexico?" Ellie asks, her cheeks red with laughter and her eyes dancing with amusement.

"No, no," Sarah agrees quietly, her laughter fading naturally, even though she really can picture Chuck in Mexico, around the world, in fact, as long as she's by his side. She can picture them both jetting across the globe and doing their spy thing together. But there's no way she can tell Ellie that.

Sarah takes a sip of coffee, thinking. The three lapse into a comfortable silence as they ponder possible destinations.

Then Ellie smiles brightly. "Oh, I've got it!" She turns to Devon. "Babe, do you remember that cabin we stayed in when we went to Colorado?"

"Oh, yeah, that's perfect," Devon says, looking from Ellie to Sarah. "You guys'll love it. It's quiet, peaceful, secluded, but there are still lots of things to do."

Ellie sighs, "And it'll be beautiful this time of year." She claps quietly in delight.

"Wow, thank you guys so much," Sarah says. "It sounds amazing."

But before they can give her any more information, Chuck walks in the front door, a bag in one hand and a coffee carrier in the other.

"Morning, everyone," he says with a smile. "I brought bagels and coffee."

Ellie and Devon greet him, and he sits down at the table next to Sarah.

She kisses him on the cheek. "Why didn't you wake up me up?" she asks.

He shrugs, handing out the coffee. "You were exhausted, and it was just work stuff."

Sarah purses her lips, not quite satisfied with that answer. Grabbing a bagel from the bag, he avoids her eyes, and she gets the feeling that he's hiding something. That feeling is confirmed when, nodding almost imperceptibly, he exchanges looks with Ellie. Sarah glances at Devon, but one look tells her that he's in on this, too.

Instead of opening up a can of worms, though, she decides to let this slide. For now. Reaching for a bagel, she settles for raising an eyebrow at him. He smiles, playing innocent. She takes a sip of coffee, staring at him over the coffee mug with a look that plainly tells him how determined she is to get to the bottom of this. Eventually.

**You are the greatest man I've ever met  
You are the stealth setter of new precedents  
And I vow, and I vow to be true  
And I vow, and I vow not to take advantage**

"Wait, I'm uninvited from the briefing?"

Chuck takes a step back, an incredulous expression on his face.

"Chuck, relax," she says. "I promise you're not missing anything. We just thought it'd be simpler for you not to miss work _again_."

She gestures to their Buy More surroundings, and he frowns, because he can't really argue with that.

He sighs, taking her hands in his. "You promise to fill me in later?"

She chuckles. If he only knew. "I won't leave out a single word," she promises.

He smiles and gives her a peck on the lips. "Good. Say 'hi' to Beckman for me."

"Will do," she nods in mock seriousness. "See you in a little bit."

Sarah gives him another kiss, longer and deeper this time, before turning and walking out of the store to head over to the Orange Orange. She meets Casey in the basement, where he's sitting quietly at the conference table. They greet each other with friendly nods.

"You ready?" he asks gruffly.

Sitting down across from him, she nods again. "Yeah, ready."

Casey flicks on the television screen, and the image of General Beckman appears.

"Major Casey, Agent Walker," she greets imperiously. "Where's Chuck?"

Sarah begins, "We –" until she catches a glance from Casey and amends her pronoun use. Starting again, she says, "I felt it would be best to talk to you without him here."

"Is there a problem?" Beckman asks, concerned.

"No," Sarah says quickly, "no problem." She pauses, unsure of how to phrase her request. Because she needs to be respectful, but there's no way she's going to let this meeting end without getting what she came for. "The only thing is," she continues slowly, "Chuck's been a little . . . frustrated lately."

"Do you think that's affecting his abilities and performance?"

"Well, not exactly. He's still able to flash, and –"

"And Bartowski was invaluable on the latest mission," Casey interrupts, "which I'm sure you've read in the report."

"Of course," Beckman concedes. "So what exactly is the problem?"

Sarah purses her lips. "I believe if he continues like this, he'll become less willing to cooperate." The explanation comes out slowly, because she doesn't like to talk poorly about Chuck, even if it'll help secure a week off for them. "He's already worn out."

Beckman lifts an eyebrow. "You're asking for a vacation."

It's not a question, and the General's gaze makes Sarah feel unbelievably exposed. Her lips thin, she simply nods.

Beckman looks at Casey. "Major, what's your assessment?"

Casey pauses, then says quietly, "I believe the time off would do both Bartowski and Agent Walker some good."

"Very well," the General says. "How does ten days sound? And where exactly are you taking him?"

Sarah's surprised that Beckman is giving them so long, but that relief is dampened by the prospect of saying what she's about to say.

Clearing her throat, she looks the General in the eye and says, "I'm afraid I won't disclose that."

Beckman's eyebrow drifts upwards again. "Excuse me?"

Sarah's eyes sparkle, and she can hardly hold back the beginnings of a smirk. She flicks a glance at Casey. "That way if any agents show up, I know to blame it on Casey."

The General chuckles, a chuckle laced with a modicum of approval. "Just be careful."

"I will, ma'am."

Sarah rises, pausing when Beckman speaks again.

"And Agent Walker?"

Sarah looks at the General.

"Have some fun," Beckman continues, the ghost of a smile on her normally impassive face. "You deserve it."

Sarah waits until she knows Chuck's home from work before heading over to the apartment. Deciding to bypass the normal friendly small talk, she sneaks through his bedroom window and finds him playing a video game.

Chuck pauses the game to look up when she opens the window, a smile growing over his lips. "Hey," he says softly. "I wasn't expecting you until later."

"I can tell," she teases, indicating the game screen. She takes a seat next to him on the bed, slides an arm around his waist, and gives him a lingering kiss. When she pulls away, she sees his eyes drifting towards the screen already. She chuckles. "You're kind of pathetic, you know."

He gives her his best innocent look. "I know, but you caught me at a bad time. I'm just about to rescue the princess!"

Grinning wickedly, she leans close to him and whispers in his ear, her voice husky. "Why would you settle for a fictional woman when you could have the one sitting next to you?"

He pulls away a few inches, his eyes wide in surprise. And then he laughs and kisses her again, cupping her face gently. "Who needs fake princesses, indeed?" he asks between kisses.

She wraps her other arm around his waist, squeezing lightly, but before it can go much further, there's a quick knock on the door followed by –

"Hey, Chuck, I just wanted to know if Sarah's coming for -"

Chuck and Sarah both turn their heads to look at a sheepish Ellie.

"I'm so sorry," Ellie says, her face reddening. She starts to back toward the door. "I guess this answers my question, though." She gives a short, embarrassed chuckle

"It's okay, Ellie," Chuck says graciously, loosening his embrace on Sarah, and his sister visibly relaxes.

Sarah smiles. "And yes, I'll be at dinner if that's all right with you."

"Of course! It'll be ready in twenty," she says as she reaches the hallway.

Chuck laughs quietly. "Thanks, El."

A short pause follows her exit, and Chuck falls back on the bed, an embarrassed look on his face, blowing out a breath. With an amused smile, Sarah lies down next to him, turning on her side to face him.

"I have to talk to you anyways," she says softly.

He does not look pleased at the prospect. "Is this about the briefing?"

She places a hand on his chest, feeling the warmth of his body, the beat of his heart. "It wasn't exactly a briefing," she confesses.

"Then what was it?" he asks, confused.

Meeting his eyes, she says, "Well, there's no mission to worry about, that's all I meant. In fact, it looks like we've even got some time off." And she can't hold back the smile that springs to her face when she thinks of spending ten glorious days all alone with this man before her.

He needs a moment to take that in, but then he smiles, his happy expression brightening up the entire room. "Really? How long?"

"Well, if you can manage not to flash," she tells him, shooting him a sparkling glance, "ten days."

Chuck whistles and softly mutters, "_Awesome_."

She grins and, bringing a hand up to his face, kisses him. "Do me a favor?" she asks quietly, almost sleepily, her eyes still half-closed from the kiss.

"Anything," he breathes.

She brushes her lips against his once more. "No fake princesses on vacation, okay?"

He chuckles. "I don't think that'll be a problem."

"Good."

They lie there for a little while longer, content to just be near each other, before Chuck speaks again.

"Wait," he says, "Where'd this all come from?"

Sarah opens her eyes.

He continues, "I mean, not that I'm ungrateful, but why would Beckman suddenly decide we need a vacation?"

She smiles, rubbing his cheek with her thumb. She should have known he'd ask questions. "You were burned out. So Casey and I recommended a couple days off, that's all."

"And she listened?"

Sarah's eyes shine. "I can be very persuasive."

He kisses her lingeringly. "That you can," he agrees when he breaks away.

"Think of it as an early Christmas gift."

When he doesn't answer, she glances up at him. He's grinning goofily, a ridiculous expression on his face.

"What?" she asks.

He shrugs. "Nothing. I just . . . that's an amazing gift. Thank you." She nods but can tell he's still hiding something. So she stares at him, wondering how long he'll take to break under her gaze. Chuck's grin grows wider. "And I think I managed to get you something really great."

She quirks an eyebrow. "Already?"

"Mmm-hmm. Definitely. You're going to love it."

He sounds so confident that she can't help but be intrigued. After all, this is the guy who got her a clock two years ago. Could it really be that good?

Teasingly, she says, "I don't know. I don't think anything can top that alarm clock."

"Ha-ha, very funny. Anyways, just admit it: you _loved_ that alarm clock."

"I did," she nods. "I still do, but it doesn't get much use now that I spend most of my nights here."

His expression grows confident again. "Well, this is something you'll never get tired of. I hope. Something you'll see every day for the rest of your life."

She trails a hand down his chest with a mischievous smile. "You know, Mr. Bartowski, tangling with spies is very dangerous. If you taunt us, we have ways of making you talk."

Laughing, he rolls on top of her. "Go ahead, Agent Walker. I can take it."

Grinning, she reaches her arms around his neck and pulls him down towards her, their lips meeting in a crash.

And, right on cue, there's a knock on the door.

"Yo, Chuck, bro," Awesome says, thankfully staying _outside_ the room this time. "Dinner's ready." He clears his throat and heads back to the kitchen.

Sighing, Chuck reluctantly lifts his head.

She runs a hand through his hair. "Come on," she says cheerfully. "I'm starving anyways."

Smiling, he allows her to pull him by the hand out of the room and down the hallway.

**This is in praise of the vulnerable man  
Why won't you lead the rest of your cavalry home?  
This is a thank you for letting me in  
Indeed in praise of the vulnerable man**

"Come on! You promised you'd go outside with me today!"

Sarah flops onto the bed, half on top of Chuck, and reaches a hand up to cup his face. Her fingers lacing into his curls, she kisses him softly, letting her lips linger over his.

His arms latch around her waist and, his eyes still closed, he sighs. "I thought we've been having a pretty good time _inside_ for the past two days."

"I have," she laughs. "But don't you want to get some fresh air?"

Opening his eyes, he chuckles, "All right, all right. What are we doing anyways? Skiing?"

"Um . . . no," she says as she pushes herself up and slips off the bed to walk toward the dresser. "Remember the last time we tried that?"

Propping himself up by his elbows, he protests, "Hey! In my defense, there were sexy women with guns chasing us!"

Sarah turns around, an eyebrow raised. "Excuse me?"

Chuck laughs nervously. "Um . . . scary women? I meant scary women with guns."

"Yeah," she nods, "that's what I thought you meant to say."

He smiles, watching her get ready. Sarah convinces him to have a go at tubing, and they spend the day on the slopes. When night falls, they're exhausted but exhilarated. Sarah's face is rosy from the cold, and her breath comes out in puffs as Chuck unlocks the door to their cabin. She clutches his arm as they walk in. He flips on the light, and her eye immediately falls upon the bottle of champagne chilling in a bucket of ice on the coffee table. Instinctively, she reaches for the gun tucked into her waistband, but Chuck stops her with a hand on her arm.

She glances up at him questioningly.

"Relax," Chuck says, "I ordered it." He gives her a little peck on the lips. "Why don't you go out on the balcony and unwind while I pour us a couple glasses?"

Sarah smiles and murmurs jokingly, "Don't make me wait too long."

Sarah takes off her coat and heads into the bedroom to throw on a warmer sweater before going out onto the balcony. She leans her arms on the railing, taking in the view of the snowcapped mountains. It's enough to take her breath away, but a minute later, the balcony doors slide open. She turns at the sound and Chuck walks out, two glasses of champagne in his hands.

He offers her a glass, and she takes it, leaning into him.

"I have to say," she says after a sip of champagne, "I'm liking the sweater look, Mr. Bartowski."

"Oh, really?" he asks, casting an incredulous eye down at the light blue sweater that looks as if it was taken straight out of Devon's closet. "In that case, I'll have to take fashion advice from Awesome more often."

Chuckling, she snuggles in closer and turns back toward the landscape. She lets the silence wash over them, reveling in the feel of his arms around her. Wanting to be even nearer to him, she sets the glass down on the railing and pulls him in closer.

After a few minutes of comfortable quiet, he breaks the evening's spell when he extricates his arms from her and whispers in her ear. "Don't freak out."

"Chuck, what – "

But the words catch in her throat as she turns around to question him, her gaze alighting on a glittering diamond ring. The realization of what it means, of what her future now looks like, hits her squarely, almost knocking the breath out of her lungs. She looks up at him, into those earnest, loving eyes of his, and her lips ease into a natural grin.

"Oh, Chuck. . ." she breathes, barely able to believe her luck in finding this man.

His eyes shine almost as brightly as the moonlight off the ring.

"Sarah Walker," he begins, and he doesn't get any further, because she's already launched herself at him, smothering him with kisses.

And all of a sudden, he's laughing, more happily than she's heard him laugh in the past three weeks alone.

"I take it that's a 'yes'?" he asks with a facetious smile.

She almost wants to smack him for asking such a silly question, but instead she says, "That's an 'absolutely, positively, without a doubt yes!'"

Smiling, he kisses her again. "Good," he says softly as he pulls away. "Because even though our life is far from perfect, it's nothing less than amazing."

"Chuck," she begins, almost unable to contain her happiness, "Oh, my goodness . . ."

He laughs. "Is there a sentence in there somewhere? Or maybe even just a lucid thought?"

"Haha, very funny," she says, smacking him on the chest. "Now are you going to let me wear that sucker or not?"

She points the ring, and he purses his lips in thought. "Hmm . . . wasn't planning on it." He shakes his head with a smile. "I was going to return it to the jeweler's as soon as we get back to LA."

She laughs, but he immediately takes the ring and slides it onto her outstretched finger.

Clearing his throat, he says almost nervously, ""I know we haven't actually been dating for that long, and that we have a lot to work out before we can get married, so I'll completely understand if you want a long engagement, but –"

She stops him with a kiss. "Chuck, the only long engagement I want is between the sheets tonight."

Chuck laughs delightedly, picks her up, and carries her back into the cabin. Nuzzling her neck, he murmurs, "Best. Vacation. Ever."


	25. Fill My Little World

Song: "Fill My Little World," by The Feeling

A/N: This isn't a Christmas song, but it's a Christmas story. Go figure, lol. I still have one more Christmas/New Year's story in mind. This week's been crazy, so I'm sorry I didn't get it finished. But I hope you won't mind reading it a little after the holiday!

Happy Holidays to everyone!

**

* * *

**

**I had a dream we went away  
Left this city for a day  
You took me southwards on a plane  
And showed me Spain or somewhere  
But in reality you're not so keen to show me anything  
And I thought you liked me**

"_Come on!" Sarah calls as she flounces down the shoreline, her feet kicking up pale sand. _

_With a laugh, Chuck runs after her and catches her around the waist. She joins in his laughter, jumping on his back, and he takes off into the sea. The water splashes up around them, and it forces Chuck to slow down once he's in past his knees. With a mighty heave, he tosses Sarah into the waves. She resurfaces spluttering and hankering for payback. _

_And, because she's Sarah Walker, she gets what she wants. She leaps at him, forcing his head beneath the salty waves. Flailing about, he manages to poke his head out above the surface and draw a much-needed lungful of air. _

"_Uncle!" he cries with a gasp, and Sarah immediately stops her assault. _

"_Do you surrender?" she asks, a playful grin lighting up her face._

_Nodding, he pulls her towards him. "I surrender," he pants. _

_She wraps arms around his neck and asks in a low voice, "What do you say we go back to the room so I can make it up to you?" _

_He grins, taking in the sight of her in the golden mid-afternoon sun. "I'd say that's a very good plan," he murmurs, his lips near her ear._

"Chuck!"

Morgan's voice calls him out of his bittersweet daydream. Chuck's head nearly slams against the Nerd Herd counter when his hand slips from beneath his chin.

"Yo, buddy, you all right?" Morgan asks, sidling up to the desk.

Chuck lifts his head, shaking it slightly to rid it of unattainable daydreams. "Yeah, Morgan. Fine. Why do you ask?"

Morgan shrugs. "You just look a little forlorn, that's all. Is it because Sarah hasn't been around much lately?"

Chuck sighs, smoothing down his rumpled tie. "Yeah. Sarah and I . . . are taking it easy for a while."

"Let me guess: _she_ was the one who wanted a break?" He shakes his head when Chuck silently affirms the suspicion. "You know what you have to do? You have to convince her that you two are _destined_ to be together. All she needs is a little reassurance."

Chuck raises his eyebrows. "How am I supposed to do that?"

Morgan shakes his head and starts to walk away. "I don't know. That's all I've got for you today, man."

Chuck lets out a small laugh as he watches his diminutive friend double back towards him.

"I'm just kidding, Chuck." Morgan clicks his pen. "Doctor Morgan's here for you."

"Well, I appreciate that, buddy. But honestly, I have no idea how to get through to her. Sometimes, she seems so . . ."

"Into you?"

Chuck nods. "Yeah, yeah."

"Trust me. She is into you."

"But then there are times when she's so closed-off that I feel like I can't even talk to her." He glances down, unwilling to say more.

Morgan slaps the desk. "I don't know what's bothering her, but I do know that you can do something to convince her that this is right."

"I appreciate the confidence," he chuckles. "Got anything in mind?"

Morgan frowns. "Dude. Christmas is in two weeks."

Chuck sits up. "You mean get her a present?"

"Of course, man! What else?" He laughs, shaking his head at Chuck's incompetence. His expression brightens even further when he sees Anna beckoning him from across the way.

Chuck nods cautiously. "That may work . . . "

"Of course it will. All you need to do is get her something spectacular, something that reminds her of all the reasons she should be with you, and then the rest will fall into place."

"Something spectacular," Chuck echoes as he watches Morgan head off to meet Anna in the break room.

It's quite a brilliant plan. The only question is: what would a woman like Sarah Walker want for Christmas?

**Hey, show some love, you ain't so tough  
Come fill my little world right up, right up  
Someday you're going to realize  
(I want you)  
To fill my little world right up, right up, right up  
**

Chuck lets out a sigh as he presses the cookie cutter into the dough. Sarah stands beside him in front of the counter, rolling out the dough a little too harshly considering the season.

He glances over at her. "Everything all right?"

She looks up, and for the first time that night, he notices how weary she looks. "Yeah," she says unconvincingly, "fine."

Transferring the Santa-shaped chunk of dough to the cookie sheet, Chuck asks, "You sure?"

She swallows and says, "Christmas just . . . isn't the best time for me, that's all." Her voice sounds tired.

"Look," he sighs, taking up the candy cane-shaped cutter, "Sorry for dragging you into all this madness." He gestures at the living room, where Awesome and Morgan are striving to string lights on the tree, and Ellie and Anna are sorting through the ornaments. "If you want to leave, I'll understand."

A smile appears on her face, and his heart instantly brightens.

"No, I like it here," she says. "I like spending time with your family."

"All right," he replies, trying to keep the incredulity out of his voice.

She resumes flattening the dough, less emphatically this time. She seems content to do so in silence, and he has no wish to break it. Laughter and conversation drift in from the living room, along with the low sounds of Christmas carols from the radio, but he does his best to ignore them. Times like this, he can't stand watching all the happy couples in his life, because he doesn't like the constant reminders of what he and Sarah aren't.

He's startled out of his unpleasant reveries by Sarah's voice. "Everything all right with you?" she asks, her tone surprisingly calm and concerned.

Chuck looks up again, his hands pausing in their task. "Fine," he tells her, his voice cracking and betraying him. He clears his throat and looks back down at the table.

She lets out a mirthless chuckle that causes him to steal another glance at her.

"What?" he asks.

She purses her lips thoughtfully, almost sadly, and asks, "Why do we keep doing this? Lying to each other, pretending everything's okay when it's obviously not?"

And when she turns her gaze toward him, her eyes so earnest, her face so emotive, he feels his heart constrict within his chest.

"Isn't that what spies do?" he retorts quietly, his voice a little too sharp.

Sarah frowns. "It's Christmas," she says simply.

He turns to look at the people in the living room. They're decorating happily, oblivious to the tension emanating from the kitchen. Smiling slightly at the scene, his heart lightens a bit. He sighs and looks back at Sarah, now occupied with pressing cookie cutters into the rolled-out dough.

"Want to get out of here?" he questions, his smile growing.

She stares at him. Her surprised but unwavering gaze is enough to make his cheeks redden anxiously.

Finally, she moistens her lips and says calmly, "Ellie will murder us if we leave in the middle of baking cookies."

"She'll understand," he argues with a shake of his head.

Focusing on cutting Christmas shapes in the dough, she exhales. "I don't know, Chuck. We probably shouldn't."

With a crooked smile, he asks, "Why not?"

"You know why, Chuck." Her voice is soft, sad.

Frustrated, he lets out a low snarl and slams a glob of dough down onto the counter. "Why can't we just have fun anymore?"

Sarah smiles at him, a more cheerful smile than in the past few weeks. And if it's fake, he doesn't mind. At this point, he'd rather have a fake happy smile than deal with all the tension between them. It's an apology, he realizes. An apology, and a promise to not let her own melancholy interfere with the Christmas cheer in the rest of the house.

Returning her smile, he finishes rolling the dough and picks up a tree-shaped cookie cutter. They finish cutting shapes and placing them on the cookie sheets in a silence that's more comfortable than it had been just a few minutes before. Chuck even starts to hum along to "White Christmas," the music drifting in from the other room.

Sarah chuckles as she shuts the oven door. Straightening, she turns to him and nudges him playfully.

"I'm sorry," he says with a smile, "was my humming bothering you?"

She laughs, and it emboldens him enough to slip an arm around her waist.

"Not at all," she tells him sweetly. "I just wanted to see if you wanted to test out your dancing shoes as well."

Instead of answering, he simply pulls her closer and takes her right hand in his left. When she places her other hand on his shoulder, he begins to lead her slowly around the kitchen. She leans in close to him, resting her cheek against his.

Strengthened by her proximity, he sings softly in her ear, "I'm dreaming of a white Christmas."

He spins her around, watching her delighted face. The song ends far too soon for Chuck's liking, and they stare at each other as the song switches to "Rockin' Around the Christmas Tree." Sarah clears her throat awkwardly, takes her hands away to smooth down her shirt. Recognizing the look in her eye, the one that speaks too much of regret and not enough of daring, he takes a step backward. His eyes dart around the kitchen, looking for something to latch onto that doesn't make him feel like a complete fool for wearing his heart on his sleeve all the time.

She breaks the uncomfortable moment by saying, "We should probably go help decorate the tree."

Discouraged by her continual (though seemingly reluctant) rejection, he nods and walks out into the living room, not even bothering to wait for her.

Ellie looks up as he comes in. "Oh, hey! How are the cookies coming?"

"Great," he tells her with a strained smile. "They're in the oven now. Need any help out here?"

She turns toward Devon and Morgan decorating the tree, an amused frown on her face. "I think they might need some help," she confesses, putting her hand to her cheek.

Awesome looks affronted as he struggles against the tree branches to hang the lights. "Babe, we're doing awesome."

"I can see that." She laughs, then turns to Chuck and whispers, "Help them. Please."

She gives him a little push and he stumbles over to the gigantic evergreen. He rubs his hands and gets to work, trying to keep his eyes on the tree and not on Sarah. She watches from the edge of the kitchen for a minute, her gaze heavy and full of sadness, then walks toward the group clustered in the living room.

Ellie smiles when she approaches. "Hey, Sarah. Feel like decorating a bit? You're tall enough to hang the mistletoe in the kitchen archway."

Sarah's return smile is polite, distanced. "Sorry, Ellie, but I'm not much of a decorator."

"Oh, nonsense. We're letting the boys string the lights. You can't possibly be any worse than they are!"

Sarah laughs softly. "That may be true, but I'm also really tired. I hate to run out on you in the middle of decorating, but I think I should call it an early night."

Chuck, staring intently at the lights he's trying to string over a branch, can't help but overhear the conversation.

"Well, all right," Ellie concedes, rubbing Sarah's shoulder. "Go get some sleep."

"Thanks again for inviting me." Sarah collects her jacket from the couch and shrugs it on.

Ellie sidles up to him, admonishing in a whisper, "Chuck, aren't you going to say goodbye to your girlfriend?"

Sighing, he lets the string of lights in his hand drop onto a branch. "Yeah, yeah, of course," he says softly.

Reddening, he walks over to Sarah, standing by the door.

"Hey," he breathes. "Are you sure you don't want to stay? We're going to watch some Christmas movies in a little bit." He stuffs his hands into his pockets, his shoulders rising up near his ears.

The smile on her face is genuine this time, he can tell. But it's also regretful.

"I'm sorry, Chuck. I'm just exhausted, and I wouldn't be good company. I better go."

He frowns. "You know, you could always just stay here if you're so tired." Leaning in close, he says in a lower voice, "It'd be good for our cover."

She pulls her head away, her jaw tightening. "Yeah," she agrees, "yeah, it would. But not tonight."

His face falls. She turns away and puts her hand on the doorknob.

"At least let me walk you out," he offers.

She purses her lips and opens the door. "It's really okay, Chuck. I'll see you tomorrow, all right?"

She takes a step outside, and he walks into the doorway, leaning against the frame. He nods when she looks back at him.

His shoulders slump. "Yeah, see you tomorrow."

**So what you gonna do  
With all this stuff piling up, filling up and taking up?  
You misunderstand me  
All I wanted was some evidence  
That you really like me  
(You really like me)**

Chuck sits at the breakfast table the next morning, still in his pajamas, his hair messy and untamed, staring into space as he slowly eats his cereal. Ellie walks in from the kitchen with two glasses of orange juice and a plate of eggs and toast and sits across from him.

"Everything okay, Chuck?" she asks, pushing a glass of juice toward him.

He nods, then changes his mind halfway through and shakes his head. "I have no idea what to get Sarah for Christmas," he confesses. "I need to get her something really spectacular this year."

Ellie purses her lips, confused. "Look, Chuck, just don't think too much about it." He tilts his head, and she continues, "Women like gifts, but we're happy with anything as long as it's thoughtful. We don't need huge romantic gestures. So don't stress about it. I'm sure what you get her will be great."

"No," he shakes his head again, the spoon from his last bite still in his mouth. He drops it into the almost empty bowl before saying, "You don't understand. I really need to get her something amazing."

"Why? Are you two having relationships problems?"

His eyebrows shoot up. How to explain it? "Well, not exactly, but . . . I just am not sure she quite understands how I feel about her. So I want to get her a gift that tells her I'm way in this, that I will be until she's ready."

"Ready?" Ellie's tone is concerned, and he can tell that he's probably scaring her a little right now.

"She's . . ." He trails off, searching for a delicate way to explain the problem to his sister. "Kind of a commitment-phobe. Which I am finding out."

"Oh." Ellie slumps a little in her chair, but whether from disappointment or relief, Chuck can't tell. "Well, in that case, stay simple, Chuck. Get her something personal that says exactly what you just told me."

"But what? That's why I asked you in the first place."

She laughs, poking at her eggs. "You have to figure _that_ out for yourself."

Frowning, he asks, "Something personal?"

"Yeah," she nods. "You know what she likes, what she needs. Or even better, you know her well enough to give her something she doesn't even realize she needs."

He stares at his cereal as he rolls that over in his mind. He can do personal, but can he find something that she needs without even realizing it?

"Thanks, sis."

**Hey, show some love, you ain't so tough  
Come fill my little world right up, right up  
Someday you're going to realize  
(I want you)  
To fill my little world right up, right up, right up**

Chuck's perched on the Nerd Herd desk, holding Sarah around the waist. She's relaxed enough to hold his arms in place around her torso, and she doesn't seem to mind the fact that she's standing between his legs. She's been so aloof for the past week that he attributes her current proximity to the fact that the Buy More Christmas party is a perfect place to keep up their cover.

He laughs lightly at his fellow employees as they dance, some obviously having imbibed a little too much alcohol already.

Peering down at her, he says, "Thanks again for coming. This must be boring for you."

She turns her face slightly, enough for him to see the offended look in her eye. "Of course not," she says simply. "I'm having fun."

"Okay," he says, unable to keep the disbelief out of his voice.

Swiveling all the way around, she locks gazes with him, her eyebrows drawn in consternation. "What, you don't think I can enjoy something like this?"

Her tone, so harsh, so confused, makes him regret his words. "No, that's not what I meant at all," he stammers. "I only meant that . . . you probably have better, more exciting things to do."

Her expression softens, and even in the dim, flashing lights, he can see her blush.

"Well, I don't," she says adamantly. In a softer voice, she adds, "And I'm sorry."

He chuckles quietly. "I guess neither of us is really in the holiday mood, huh?"

"I think I can fix that," Morgan says cheerily as he pops in on the conversation. He turns to Sarah and inclines his head gallantly. "Would you do me the honor of a dance, m'lady?"

Chuck can't keep a smile from his lips.

Sarah, taken aback for a second, laughs and says, "Sure, Morgan. I'd love to."

So he watches Morgan take her hand and lead her out onto the impromptu dance floor just as Lester flips on a slow song. Anna edges up to Chuck, her back against the desk and her arms crossed.

"Hey, Chuckles," she greets.

"Anna! What's up?"

"Not too much. Enjoying the party?"

"Yeah, of course." He pauses, then points to Sarah and Morgan, now chatting as they dance, and asks, "Did you put Morgan up to that?"

She laughs. "No! He was rambling on about helping you."

He cocks his head. "Helping me?" Anna nods. "How?"

"I don't know," she shrugs. "He mentioned something about Christmas miracles and true love."

Not knowing what to make of that, Chuck shakes his head. "Well, hey. Care to take a spin?"

With a smile, Anna takes his proffered hand. He hops down from the desk and leads her out among the other couples. They revolve slowly along the floor, the height difference forcing him to stoop just a little as they dance. Eventually, they meander their way over to Sarah and Morgan. When the song comes to an end, Morgan thanks Sarah and turns to Chuck.

"May I cut in?" he asks.

"Sure, buddy. Go for it."

Chuck slaps his friend on the back, a wistful expression on his face as he watches Anna and Morgan dance. His hands in his pockets, he turns back to Sarah, standing there looking uneasy.

But when he smiles, she beams and gravitates toward him. His arms instinctively wrap around her waist as hers slide around his neck. They dance for another hour, the fast and the slow songs, and Sarah, happier than he's seen her in a long time, feels so right in his embrace that he never wants to let her go. But once Jeff gets drunk enough to start leering at her a little too enthusiastically, he decides it's time to head back to the apartment to join Ellie and Awesome for dinner.

"I think it's time to go," he tells her, leaning forward so she can hear him above the music.

She nods, glances down at her watch. "Yeah, I still need to get ready for dinner anyways."

They start to walk out of the store, steering clear of Jeff on their way out.

He frowns. He had forgotten that she'd need to get ready. "Do you want me to drop you off on my way back? That way you can just meet me at Ellie's."

Smiling at him, she shakes her head. "That's okay. I threw my bag in your car before we left. Do you mind me getting ready at your place?"

"No, of course not," he replies, a little taken aback at the prospect of them getting ready – dressed – in the same room.

When they step out into the chilly night air, he slips an arm around her shoulders. To his surprise, and relief, she doesn't push him away, doesn't make an excuse about working together. Instead, she slides her own arm around his waist, holding onto him. And for Chuck, that's the greatest feeling in the world.

**Maybe it's all too much  
How come we're so messed up?  
Maybe I'm not enough  
Maybe you're just too much**

Chuck, dressed in black slacks, a dark green, long-sleeved button-down, and a Christmas tie, lies on his bed and stares up at the ceiling. There's a soft knock on the door, followed by Ellie slipping into the room.

"Hey," she says.

"Hey, sis. What's up?"

She pushes his legs to the side and sits down on the bed. "Nothing really. Where's Sarah?"

Ah, there it is. There's what she's after.

He sighs. "She's in the bathroom getting ready. Do you need any help with dinner?"

"So everything's all right with you then?" she asks, completely ignoring his question.

"Why would you think there's something wrong?"

"You know, all that talk about getting her a perfect gift." Smiling, Ellie pokes him in the knee. "How's that coming, by the way?"

Chuck finally pulls himself into a sitting position, letting a shy smile grace his lips. "Almost finished."

She beams. "And she's going to like it?"

"I hope so," he nods, unable to keep his smile from growing.

"Good." She pauses, surveying her brother closely. "I'm really happy for you, you know."

"Yeah, I know." He pauses before adding, "And thank you. For always showing me what's right in front of my face."

She laughs. "I just don't know why I'm the one who keeps having to reassure you two of the other's feelings."

Chuck tilts his head at that, his smile turning to a confused frown. "Wait, you've talked to Sarah about us, too?"

Ellie hops off of the bed, smiling abashedly. She turns around at the doorway, her eyes sparkling with laughter. "That's between us girls."

"Wait, Ellie!"

But she's already out the door and halfway down the hallway. Intending to follow her, he gets off the bed, only to be cornered by Sarah as she waltzes into his bedroom, looking drop-dead gorgeous in a crimson, knee-length dress.

He backs up a little, stammering, "Wow, Sarah, you look . . ." Swallowing, he collects himself. "I mean, you didn't have to go through all this trouble just for dinner with the Bartowskis." He shoves his hands in his pockets and chuckles nervously.

Sarah's smile lights up her face, and he's certain his heart stops at the sight.

She glances down at her bare feet. "I know," she admits softly, "but I wanted to."

He smiles, hardly believing the implications behind her words. He often dreads these moments, moments when she gives him a glimpse of her heart, of her feelings, only to snatch it away. But for some reason, maybe because it's Christmas, she doesn't this time. She just looks up at him, admiration and a tinge of embarrassment on her face, and moves to tighten his tie knot. She smoothes down the silk fabric of the tie, then brushes some invisible lint off his shoulder.

"We seem to match very well," he says, gesturing from her red dress to his own green shirt.

"Christmas colors," she chuckles.

"Ellie will think we planned this."

Sarah smirks. "Maybe we did," she says, heading out into the hallway.

He cocks his head, puzzled, before following her. He finds her in the kitchen doorway, watching Ellie bustle around.

"Do you need any help, Ellie?" Sarah asks as he sidles up beside her.

Ellie, too busy to look at them, waves them away. "No! Thanks, but you two just relax. Everything will be ready in five minutes. Promise."

Sarah glances at Chuck, who shrugs and turns around.

Before they can walk into the living room, though, Devon calls out, "Don't move!"

Chuck raises his eyebrows at his brother-in-law, looking mightily pleased with himself as he sits on the couch next to Anna and Morgan. He chuckles and says, "It's all right, Devon. She already kicked us out of the kitchen. Probably thinks we'll do more harm than good."

"No," Awesome shakes his head and points a finger above them. He grins at them, then turns to Anna and Morgan.

Morgan laughs. "Mistletoe, buddy."

Chuck swallows audibly, turning to face Sarah. She has a disarming smile on her face, sufficiently dazzling to make him pause.

But, leaning in, he whispers, "We don't have to do this, you know. I bet they'll be all right with just a peck."

"Don't be absurd," she replies, surprising him, and before he can protest any further, she lifts herself up on her toes and presses her lips gently against his.

It's sweet, and only lasts a few seconds, but the touch is enough to make him rethink everything she's been telling him for the past two years, all the arguments and protestations against their ever having a real relationship. She can't hide the affection in that kiss, maybe she's not even trying to, and that thought makes his heart feel like it's about to explode with joy.

She breaks off the kiss, leaving him momentarily staggered. Lost in her eyes, he's pretty sure time itself stops. All that matters is the way she's looking at him. Right now, if she asked him to move the world, he'd do it, or die in the attempt. He leans forward, intending to press his forehead against hers, but she places a hand on his chest.

She keeps her dancing eyes on him while addressing Ellie. "I'm going to steal your brother for a few minutes, Ellie."

He hears the others laugh, but the sound is distant to his ears. Ellie must give her consent, because the next thing he feels is Sarah grabbing him by the tie and dragging him out onto the back porch. She offers no explanation as she hops up onto the railing and pulls him closer, her arms encircling his waist. Though he'd rather bask in her presence, her coy smile prompts him to speech.

"What's going on?" he asks.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean you've been toying with me –"

"I haven't been toying with you, Chuck," Sarah protests softly, sounding hurt.

He frowns. "Fine. But you've hardly given me any indications of your feelings during the past two years. You can't just kiss me and then drag me outside like . . ." He trails off, certain that he can't find delicate enough words.

"Like?" she prompts, genuine curiosity on her face.

Clearing his throat, he says in a low, nervous voice, "Like you have a right to."

Far from exploding with anger and indignation, she simply nods somberly. She takes her arms from his waist and instead grasps his hands. With a sigh, she confesses, "Morgan talked to me."

"What? Oh, I am so sorry," he laughs.

"No, it's all right. He was sweet."

He cocks an eyebrow. "When did he do this?"

"At the party, when we were dancing."

Chuck shakes his head in wonder. "I can't believe he would do that."

She chuckles. "You should be congratulating him on talking some sense into me."

He looks up quickly. "Wait. How's that now?"

She bites her lip shyly and glances down at their connected hands. Squeezing his hands lightly, she swallows and says, "I think we should give this a try."

The words course through him with a shock, but he manages to keep his cool. "Sarah, please don't joke with me. Because it's Christmas and –"

"I'm not joking with you." She pauses, the force of her words backed up by her direct gaze. "I want a relationship with you, Chuck. We just need to talk about some ground rules first."

He sighs. Here comes the catch. "What do you mean?"

"Well, first of all, I have to talk to Casey, make sure he's not going to blow a gasket the first time he sees us holding hands or something outside of a mission." She looks at him until he nods, showing that he understands. "And second, we're going to have to keep this professional, Chuck. Because this is dangerous. My job is to protect you. Emotions can be fatal in a job like ours."

He gives her a little half-smile. "Can't you protect me best when you're with me most of the time?"

She returns the smile, but her tone is still serious. "Yes, but you can also affect my judgment, which is why we need to be careful, especially during missions. That means you can't be jealous whenever I need to get close to someone in order to get information."

"I'm never going to like that, Sarah," he sighs, his breath teasing her wavy locks.

"Chuck –"

"But I understand why it's necessary, and I promise to keep my jealousy in check and to not let it affect the missions." She seems doubtful, but he means it. It nearly kills him every time he sees her flirt with other guys, but if that's what it takes to make this relationship work, he'll suffer through it, even if it tears his heart out. "Besides," he continues jokingly, "we'll see how you feel when it's my turn to do the seducing."

The remark earns him a smack on the shoulder.

He raises his eyebrows and asks, "Are we done with this negotiation now?"

Perplexed, she frowns. "It's not a negotiation."

"It kind of feels like one."

"Hmm, maybe I can fix that," she purrs, leaning up for a kiss.

Now that he knows for certain what she feels for him and no longer has to guess based on just an inkling, the kiss nearly sweeps him off his feet. He throws himself so eagerly into it that she almost topples off the railing with the force. Reversing his momentum, he pulls her back toward him. Sarah, her arms around his neck to keep her balance, laughs heartily before reaffixing her lips to his. She finally releases him, allowing him to draw breath again. His chest heaving, he smiles down at her and, when he sees her shiver, runs his hands up and down her arms.

Reluctantly, he breathes, "We should probably get back inside. My sister might think you've abducted me by now."

She laughs, her gaze sliding behind him. "I don't think that's a problem," she whispers. "She's been sneaking surreptitious glances at us since we came out."

His grin grows. "We should give her something to talk about, don't you think so?"

One arm around his neck and the other hand against his chest, she surrenders to his kiss. Chuck, even through all the adrenaline-pumping missions and all the life-or-death situations, has never felt so alive.****

Hey, show some love, you ain't so tough**  
Come fill my little world right up  
Hey, show some love, you ain't so tough  
Come fill my little world right up, right up  
Someday you're going to realize  
(I want you)  
To fill my little world right up, right up**

After dinner, Ellie insists on taking pictures by the decorated tree. By now, everyone present understands her eagerness for tradition and so they humor her by crowding around the tree. Chuck stands next to Devon, Sarah squeezes next to him, and Morgan and Anna stand in front of them, not even having to stoop because of the height different. The five wait patiently while Ellie sets the camera up on the tripod. Sarah nudges against Chuck, holding him around the waist. He slips his arm over her shoulders to pull her even closer and places a kiss on her temple. She's laughing as Ellie runs over to the group, placing herself next to Devon in time for the camera to take the shot.

After three more group pictures, Ellie insists on taking photos of the couples and different groups. All the boys together first, followed by all the girls. Then Morgan and Anna, Devon and Ellie, and finally Chuck and Sarah. Chuck stands in front of the tree and Sarah in front of him. She draws his arms around her, and he rests his cheek against the top of her head, her hair tickling his face.

She feels so warm, so right, that he doesn't have to fake his smile when Ellie counts to three.

Once Ellie has arranged them in various groups and positions, and is satisfied with the pictures, they settle down for a "Twilight Zone" marathon. Sarah cuddles up close to him on the couch, her head against his shoulder.

When everyone's fallen into a sleepy stupor brought on by dinner and the late hour, Sarah slips outside with the excuse that she has to make a phone call, implying that she's talking to family or an old friend. But the way Sarah looks at him makes Chuck realize that she's heading over to Casey's for a chat about the new state of their relationship. The thought lifts him up so high that he doesn't even mind the loss of her warmth next to him.

A full episode goes by without Sarah's reappearance, though, and his spirits begin to depress. What could be taking so long? Disappointed, he begins to fear the worst: that Casey alerted Beckman, or that maybe he's putting up a fight of his own. Chuck looks around. Ellie's fast asleep in Devon's arms, her light snores barely audible over the noise of the movie. Morgan and Anna, on the opposite end of the couch, are asleep, too, Morgan's head buried in Anna's hair.

Once he decides that she's not coming back tonight, Chuck rises from the couch with a sigh.

"Night, Devon," he says softly as he passes the armchair.

"Good night, bro," Devon drawls, his voice heavy with sleep.

Chuck's thankful that he doesn't ask where Sarah's gotten to. Loosening his tie, he drags his feet down the hallway. He can't stop the disappointment from welling up inside. He chastises himself silently; it had been foolish to let his hopes rise so drastically over the past few hours.

But all his negative thoughts race out the window as he opens the door to his bedroom and sees Sarah sitting on the window sill. An ecstatic grin springs to his face as she rises to meet him in the middle of the room. He snakes an arm around her waist as she stands on her tiptoes to kiss him, one hand on the side of his face and the other running through his hair. She's the very breath of life to him, and he now knows he won't be able to survive without the touch of her lips each and every day.

Even through the rush of feeling that makes him lightheaded, even though his senses burst into overdrive with every tingling sensation, he forces himself to slow down and let her dictate the pace. He doesn't have to worry, though, as Sarah, without extricating herself from him, pushes him backward, steering slightly to the right. The backs of Chuck's legs hit against the bed, and he tumbles onto the mattress, pulling her with him.

Even through her laughter, she scarcely separates herself from him. Her fingers are tangling in his curls, and her weight is pleasantly comfortable against his torso.

"I guess this means your talk with Casey went well," he says huskily.

"Mmm . . ." she murmurs, "very well. And do you know the best part?"

Looking up into her brilliant blue eyes, blazing with happiness, he almost can't believe his luck in earning her affections. "What?" he asks, a smile growing on his lips.

She grins mischievously. "He turned off the bugs."

**Hey, show some love, you ain't so tough  
Come fill my little world right up, right up  
Someday you're going to realize  
That I'm passing you by  
So fill your little world right up, right up, right up**

He closes his eyes and breathes deeply, inhaling the comforting scent of morning coffee. He just finished Sarah's present and wrapped it up, and by his estimation, he has at least another hour before people start waking up, including Morgan and Anna lying fast asleep on the other end of the couch. Which explains his surprise when he hears the soft padding of footsteps.

Seated on the couch with a blanket draped over his legs, he's too comfortable and not curious enough to turn around to see who it is. But when the person walks around the couch, he catches a glimpse of blonde hair and a smile comes to his face.

Sarah, wearing cotton PJ pants and one of his t-shirts, sits gingerly on the arm of the couch, not wanting to wake Morgan and Anna. She places a hand around his neck. In a whisper, she asks, "What are you doing up so early?"

He gestures to the square package at his feet and says, "I had to finish your gift. Why are you up already?"

Her fingers twirling into his dark locks, she replies, "I always wake up this early."

He clicks his tongue softly. "Well, that's gotta stop."

"Why?" she smiles.

"Because laziness is an art form, one my friends and I happen to be well-versed in." He smiles. "It's time you learn what it's all about."

"Well, in that case," she replies, massaging the back of his neck, "why don't we go back to your bedroom for a while? At least until everyone else is awake."

He gives her a peck on the lips. "Sounds like a plan."

Sarah takes his hand and pulls him up.

He starts to follow her down the hallway, but stops and asks, "Are you hungry? Do you want some breakfast?"

She agrees and goes to wait in his room while he gathers two bowls, two spoons, a jug of milk, a box of cereal, and her gift. He piles them all precariously onto a tray and heads back to his bedroom. When he walks in, Sarah's already under the covers and leaning against the headboard.

"Cereal?" she asks, one eyebrow raised.

"Excuse me, are you mocking my effort?" He dumps his burden on the bed and slides under the sheets beside her.

"No, of course not," she says as she leans toward him. She kisses him on the cheek before adding, "It was a valiant effort. I love Lucky Charms."

He moves in for another kiss. "See how well I know you?"

She chuckles, and they start setting up breakfast. After they're done eating, Chuck takes the tray and puts it on the floor next to the bed. When he turns back towards her, she takes the opportunity to roll on top of him.

"Thank you," she tells him, giving him a gentle kiss on the lips. "I haven't had breakfast in bed ever."

He laughs, reaching up to brush some hair behind her ear. "It was an experience, wasn't it? Maybe next time, I'll even make you French toast. Or omelets. Or –"

"Pancakes!" they say simultaneously with matching smiles.

She stares down at him, content, until he breaks the comfortable silence.

"And I should thank you," he whispers.

"What for?" She tilts her head questioningly.

He takes a deep breath before replying. "For yesterday. For today. For . . . every day in the future that I get to wake up next to you."

Sarah seems caught off-guard for a moment. She strokes his cheek, and that's enough of an answer for him. Then she says in a playful voice, "Speaking of waking up next to me, Charles Bartowski, if I fall asleep in your arms, I expect to wake up there as well. Do I make myself clear?"

His eyes glint mischievously. "Mmm . . . I think I may need help remembering that."

Her return grin is no less wicked. "Be careful, Mr. Bartowski. When you ask something of a spy, you never know if you're going to get the good cop or the bad."

"Thanks for the warning, but I think I'll take my chances," he breathes before pulling her down for another kiss.

When they separate, there's an unfamiliar expression on her face.

"You okay?" he asks.

She nods. "Yeah, yeah. Fine."

He cocks an eyebrow at her.

Swallowing nervously, she can't seem to meet his gaze. "It's just . . . I like it here."

Chuck smiles. "I'm glad." Winding his arms around her waist, he adds, "How can you not like it when you don't even have to pour your own cereal?"

"Yes," she laughs, wrapping a curl around her finger. "I have to say that having my cereal poured for me is undoubtedly the highlight of my morning. All part of your natural charm."

"Yeah, well, I'm just surprised that it took you two years to succumb to my charm."

"What can I say?" she smirks. "I'm a woman of very strong will."

"That you are. And what is your will this morning?"

Far from having the desired effect of making her laugh, or even better – melt, the comment seems to freak her out. She sits up, her palms resting on his stomach, and hooks a loose hair behind her ear.

Her voice is serious as she says, "Love me. . . . I want you to love me. I can do anything, get through anything, if only I know that much."

Chuck props himself up on his elbows, looking intently at her and trying to keep a smile from pulling at his lips. "Sarah, you don't ever have to doubt my feelings for you. I _do_ love you. More than Clark Kent loved Lois Lane. More than Richard Cypher loved Kahlan Amnell." He pauses, letting the smile come fully to his lips. "More than Han Solo loved Leia Organa."

Her mouth twists into a smile of her own. "Well, when you put it that way . . ."

Grinning, he leans up for a kiss. His arms instinctively enfold her as hers wraps tightly around his neck. Their official relationship isn't even a day old, but he already loves the way she can make his heart soar with just one kiss, and the way each kiss is exponentially more spectacular than the last.

Before long, bustling can be heard from the hallway. Chuck places a hand on the side of Sarah's face and says delightedly, "Before things get crazy, I have something for you."

She quirks a questioning smile as he reaches for and hands her the gift. He moves back against the headboard, giving her ample room to open it. Sarah looks at the Christmas wrapping paper for a moment before opening it delicately to reveal a homemade book with the title: Sarah and Chuck, Christmas 2009.

She chuckles. "You made me a scrapbook?"

"A photo album," he corrects, making a face, even though it very well may be a scrapbook. He's not quite sure where the line between the two is drawn. "I don't do scrapbooks."

Sarah runs a hand over the photo on the cover, the picture taken just last night of the two of them, dressed up, in front of the tree. The amazement on her face increases as she turns the page. He's done his best to get photos of the happier times in their relationships and to include everyone she's met and come to care about in LA. Before she can get far, though, she turns around and nestles in his arms, holding the book so they both can see it.

There's a page of them at the beach: the two of them lounging, strolling on the shore, laughing in the water.

Another page is full of Ellie and Sarah, because, even though she's never admitted it, he knows that relationship is one she's come to value and love.

A page of the Nerd Herd and the crew at the Buy More.

Pictures of Sarah, Chuck, Ellie, Devon, Morgan, and Anna on a picnic in the summer.

Birthday parties and holidays – Thanksgiving, the Fourth of July, New Year's, etc.

Their trip to Stanford with Ellie and Awesome, along with their many double dates.

The two of them on the pier.

The picture of them from over a year ago on their trip to collect Roan Montgomery.

Comic-Con, when Sarah had refused to dress up.

Halloween, when she _had_ dressed up, surprising him by showing up at the apartment dressed as Leia.

He'd even managed to include a picture of Casey. Of course, it had been Ellie who had insisted on him posing for one with Chuck and Sarah at dinner a few months ago, but he was grateful that he had found one at all.

On the final finished page is the group photo from last night – Sarah, Chuck, Ellie, Devon, Morgan, and Anna all clustered around the Christmas tree and smiling brightly. The caption underneath reads: A Bartowski Family Christmas, December 2008.

A smile comes to Sarah's face as she flips through the blank pages behind it.

"Why are they blank?" she asks.

"Because," he smiles, "that way you can add to it. And I have a feeling we'll have a lot more memories to include."

She turns her head, places her fingers on his chin.

"Thank you," she breathes.

"You're welcome."

Sarah leans toward him, her lips grazing over his. He wants desperately to drown in her, to cast off the outside world for one day, but the sounds of people waking and getting breakfast and celebrating the holiday grow louder with each passing moment. He closes his eyes and rests his forehead against hers.

Reluctantly, he says, "It sounds like everyone's awake. We should probably get out there soon."

"Mmm-hmm," she murmurs, but makes no move to get up.

"Sarah?"

"Hmm?"

"Merry Christmas."

There's a short pause.

"Merry Christmas, Chuck."****

Come on and show me you ain't so tough


	26. All I Want For Christmas Is You

Song: "All I Want for Christmas Is You," by Mariah Carey (written by Mariah Carey and Walter Afanasieff).

A/N: I know this is kind of late for Christmas, but it's technically still the holiday season, right? Lol. Happy holidays, everyone! Also, I'm working on the fifth chapter of _Seven Times_. I'm not sure how soon it will be up, but I wanted you to know that I hadn't forgotten about it. I wanted to finish the Christmas-themed chapter and get that out first. :)

* * *

Sarah stares at the darkened ceiling and pulls the sheets tighter around her. The room is warm, the body next to her is warm, but she's cold. She's been cold for so long – one year, four months, two weeks, and two days – that she's amazed her body, her heart haven't gone numb yet.

She thinks she'd prefer the numbness to the overwhelming, aching cold.

"Drew?" she whispers.

He groans, stirring a bit.

"Are you awake?"

"Sarah," he says softly as he opens his eyes and props his head up to look at her.

His tone is confused, because they don't do this. They're on a mission, which means they're partners now, not friends. And she shouldn't be wasting valuable sleeping time with idle talk of dreams.

But she decides to ask anyways, because this is the only outlet she has.

She doesn't turn to face him, doesn't need to look him in the eye. She doesn't want to see the accusation in his gaze.

"Do you ever think we're meant for something else?" she asks quietly.

Quiet reigns for so long that she thinks he's fallen back asleep.

But then he responds, "You mean something other than the killing and the lying?"

She nods, trusting that he can see her in the dimness.

"No."

Sarah turns her head sharply. Even in the shadows, Drew's expression softens at her distress.

He sighs. "We're molded into what we are. In that sense, we're not meant for anything else. But if you're asking if I ever wanted a different life, if I ever desired to be something I'm not, something other than a monster, then yes, I have."

She turns on her side, her hands falling on top of his. Before she can speak, he lifts his eyes to hers and continues.

"A few years ago, almost three now, in Cadiz, I met a young woman, a civilian. The assignment was fairly long, over four months. We fell in love, and the whole time I was lying to her about who I was, what I did." He purses his lips, swallowing a lump in his throat. "It ended when the mission did. I left a note on her pillow, didn't even have the courage to tell her goodbye to her face."

Sarah is almost at the point of tears herself. She brushes back a stray curl of Drew's straight, dark hair, her hand lingering on his clammy cheek.

"Oh, Drew," she breathes.

Regret fills her heart as she realizes how long she's known him without really knowing him. He's been carrying around the weight of this, the same as she's been carrying around the weight of her own lost love, without breathing a word of it. If only she had opened her eyes a bit, been less blinded by her own pain, she may have understood him better.

He gains control of his breathing, then asks, "You have someone?"

"Yeah," she nods. "He was an asset of mine a year and a half ago." Her expression falls as she recalls the morning she left. "I didn't even give him the dignity of a note."

Drew grips her hands. "Do you think it's worth it? Abandoning our humanity for the greater good, for some abstract ideal never realized?"

"I'm not sure I had any to begin with," she admits softly. He looks at her questioningly. "To be honest, he was the first one to recognize it in me, to awaken my humanity." In a rushed whisper, she confesses, "I didn't deserve him."

"Do you think he's waiting for you?"

Sarah swallows, putting off her answer. "The foolish, selfish part of me hopes he is. But the part of me that knows he deserves more hopes he's moved on and found someone who can actually give him everything she has."

The shadows across his face deepen, and his voice is quieter than she's ever heard it. "Do you think she's waiting for me?"

She puts a hand over his. "I have no doubt of it."

**I don't want a lot for Christmas  
There's just one thing I need  
I don't care about the presents  
Underneath the Christmas tree  
I just want you for my own  
More than you could ever know  
Make my wish come true  
All I want for Christmas is you.**

"What are you doing here?"

She hopes the question isn't rude, hopes the curious inflection in her voice overrides any offensive one. Drew walks into her apartment, a charming smile on his face.

"You hate September 24th," he says matter-of-factly. "I don't know why, but you do, and since we probably won't have another mission for a while, I'm here to make sure you don't get wasted and do something stupid."

Sarah rolls her eyes. "Like?"

"Streaking," he suggests, laughing. "Drunk dialing the Director." His smile fades and his voice is no longer joking when he says, "Resigning."

When her gaze moves to meet his, she can see that he's completely serious. She walks into the living room and falls onto the couch. He follows suit, sitting on the opposite side.

Her head leaning on her hand, she looks at him and asks, "You really think I'd do that?"

Drew shrugs. "You're one of the best, Sarah. And you're undoubtedly the best partner I've ever had. But something about this day messes you up. I'm just here to make sure it doesn't mess you up beyond repair this year. Call it selfish for not wanting to lose my partner, but there it is."

Sarah bites her bottom lip, not knowing how to respond. No amount of words could express it, so she simply says, "Thank you," and the look in his eye tells her he understands.

After the moment passes, he slaps his knees and asks, "Well, Walks, the usual? You get the drinks and I'll pick the movies?"

"Uh-uh," she shakes her head. "You have awful taste in movies."

Drew feigns offense. "You told me you loved _Howard's End_!"

"That was only to keep you from 'accidentally' shooting me on the mission the next night," she teases him.

Grumbling under his breath good-naturedly, he gets up and walks into the kitchen. She watches him into the other room before walking over to the television and the cabinet beneath. The paltry DVD collection it holds is comprised of older movies starring Jimmy Stewart, Marlon Brando, and Gregory Peck. There's none of the movies she became accustomed during her LA assignment, because Chuck had owned all his favorite movies and television seasons. They'd watched _Firefly_, _Star Trek_, _Lord of the Rings_, every sci-fi and fantasy movie she'd ever heard of and even more that she never had.

Grabbing _Roman Holiday_ from the small set of movies, she realizes with a pang that those days are over. As she pops the movie into the DVD player, Drew comes back into the living room carrying two over-sized margaritas. An hour later, they're curled up on the couch, both having had too much to drink already.

As Sarah chuckles for the hundredth time, Drew throws his hands up in mock indignation and exclaims, "I don't get it! What's so special about Gregory Peck?"

She regards him sadly, "Drew, if you don't understand why Gregory Peck is the epitome of man, you will never understand any woman."

He laughs. "Maybe you should explain it to me then."

Sarah takes another sip of her third margarita, looking at his image on the screen. "I don't think I can explain it without making him sound incredibly boring. But just keep in mind that the root of Gregory Peck's attractiveness is the fact that he is unfailingly a perfect gentleman. Always."

Drew nods solemnly, sinking further into the couch cushions. When they finish the movie, he protests the ending. Her objection, that it's not sad but "satisfyingly bittersweet," slurs off her tongue.

She can't explain what happens in the next moment. Her mind is fuzzy from alcohol and heartache, the lights are dim except for the blue glow of the television screen, and Drew's so close that she can smell the tequila on his breath. There's no thought process that takes her from point A to point B. She's simply rational one moment and kissing him the next.

She's surprised at how gentle his lips are, but before she can think about it any further, he draws away.

"Sarah," he breathes. "We're not thinking straight, and we'd both regret this in the morning."

He's right, of course. He is always infuriatingly right.

Drew is her best friend. She has no right to compromise that friendship, and being with him would only help her forget about Chuck for a few hours at most.

"Do you want to talk about it?" he asks. His tone is so caring and thoughtful that she just wants him to wrap her in his arms and let her beg for his forgiveness. She's an idiot, and she doesn't deserve a partner, a friend like him.

She stares at the TV screen and replies despondently, "No, I want to forget."

"Kissing me isn't going to help you do that. It may scar your brain, but it won't help you forget." She looks over at him, meets his eyes. "Trust me," he adds softly, "I know."

"His name's Chuck," she tells him in a whisper. "Chuck Bartowski."

Drew sighs and, his voice barely audible, says, "Her name was Elena."

They stare at each other in silence, and she's left wondering why two of the CIA's deadliest agents are so terrified of love.

**I don't want a lot for Christmas  
There is just one thing I need  
I don't care about the presents  
Underneath the Christmas tree  
I don't need to hang my stocking  
There upon the fireplace  
Santa Claus won't make me happy  
With a toy on Christmas day  
I just want you for my own  
More than you could ever know  
Make my wish come true  
All I want for Christmas is you  
You, baby**

She hates waking up next to people, because in that brief moment between sleep and waking, she so easily mistakes the situation for her days in LA. It's so easy to convince herself that she's waking up beside Chuck, especially when Drew, with his full head of dark hair and his lean body, is beside her.

Panic sets in when she sees Drew and remembers the brief kiss last night before she registers that he's sitting up in bed, a laptop open across his legs. When he notices that she's awake, he leans over toward the bedside table and then turns toward her, holding out a glass of water and three pills.

"Here. Aspirin. Water. Go to town, Walks."

"I love you," she mutters sleepily.

Drew chuckles. "The feeling's mutual."

When Sarah has downed the pills and half the glass of water, she fluffs the pillow and sits up against the headboard. She tilts her head toward the laptop. "What are you doing?"

He looks over at her, a slight smile on his face. "I'm not sure how much you remember of last night, but you told me his name."

"No, I remember," she replies, her voice soft.

"I thought I recognized it, so I looked him up in the directory."

She sits up straighter. "You did what?"

"I'm sorry," he says, "but I knew that I knew that name. I knew I'd heard of him."

He turns the laptop toward her so she can see Chuck's file on the screen, a picture of him near the top. His familiar curly hair is sticking out at odd angles, but the smile she loves so much is absent.

"I don't understand," she says, shaking her head, unable to keep her eyes off of Chuck's picture.

"From what I can tell, it looks like the agency's set up a branch out in LA. They've got a small group of agents and analysts stationed out there. Your Charles Bartowski, who also goes by Carmichael and the codename Scarlet Jedi, seems to be the head analyst."

Sarah swallows, finally has the courage to tear her eyes away from Chuck's piercing ones and meet Drew's. "Is that all you can find?" she asks, desperate for more, anything at all.

"In the directory, yeah," Drew sighs. "But do you remember my friend Hayden Frick? You've met him a couple times. We went through the Academy together." She nods. "Well, I sent him an e-mail late last night . . . er, early this morning, I suppose, and, judging by his reply, it looks like we've been out of the loop."

She regards him curiously, her head at an angle. "What do you mean?"

A smile on his face, he leans forward. "I mean that while we've been doing our thing in the world's seediest countries, your former asset has become the most sought-after analyst in the agency."

"What? How?" she sputters.

"I don't know how," he shakes his head. "But apparently everyone in the agency wants to work with him. He works almost nonstop, both in LA and going everywhere and anywhere the CIA needs him to."

Sarah is speechless, completely dumbfounded by the new life Chuck's carved out for himself. She feels an intense surge of pride for him, irrational though it is, but at the same time is unable to fathom how he keeps it up, how he's able to fly all over the world for missions without raising alarm bells for his sister.

When the image of him as a true analyst sinks in so does the impossibly miserable feeling that they missed their chance to become a unique, effective couple – the Spy and the Analyst.

She falls back against the pillows with a groan, staring at the ceiling.

"Hey," Drew says, his voice thick with concern, "I thought we were making progress here." He prods her gently in the side.

"You know why I hate September?" she asks softly, turning to gaze at him. Drew shakes his head, but his expression tells her how interested he is in learning the answer. "It's because yesterday was his birthday. He's 31 now." Her voice cracks with despair. "And not only that, but I met him four years ago today. And the end of the week is the anniversary of our first and only real date."

Drew lets out a low whistle. "Damn. That's quite a history you've got there, Walks."

**I won't ask for much this Christmas  
I won't even wish for snow  
I'm just gonna keep on waiting  
Underneath the mistletoe  
I won't make a list and send it  
To the North Pole for Saint Nick  
I won't even stay awake to  
Hear those magic reindeer click  
'Cause I just want you here tonight  
Holding on to me so tight  
What more can I do  
Baby, all I want for Christmas is you  
You**

She wakes up in the hospital, the nauseatingly clean smell of antiseptic assaulting her nostrils. Groggily, she opens her eyes to find Drew sitting in a chair by her bed. He looks up when she stirs.

"Hey!" he says, his voice bright but soft. "You're awake."

She swallows with difficulty and reaches for the cup of water on the nearby table. After swallowing a third of the glass, she asks, "How long have I been out?"

Drew shrugs. "Last night and most of the morning. Do you remember what happened?"

She nods, wincing as the pain shoots through her bandaged shoulder. She has no wish to recall the previous night. "Are you okay?"

"Of course," he replies, giving her a dazzling smile. He bends over and retrieves something from beneath his chair, then walks over to the bed. "Come on, scoot over, Walks," he says with a chuckle. "And these are for you." She laughs as he hands her a box of Mike 'n' Ikes.

"My favorite!"

He smiles; she moves over to give him room to sit down next to her. She digs into the box of candy but stops and casts a suspicious eye at him.

"Wait . . ."

He holds a hand up innocently. "What?"

"You're trying to bribe me, aren't you?"

Drew frowns. "Sarah," he begins uncertainly, and she knows bad news is coming because he hardly ever calls her 'Sarah' anymore. It's 'Walker' on missions and 'Walks' during downtime, but only 'Sarah' when they're having a serious conversation.

"What is it, Drew? Just say it."

"The doctors said your shoulder should be healed up in a few weeks," he says, taking her hand and squeezing it lightly. "You just need rest and maybe some therapy. We'll be back on a plane to the States by tomorrow afternoon."

She quirks an eyebrow. "I thought you had bad news."

"Well, the bad news is that next week is Christmas, and the agency's giving us a month off."

Closing her eyes, Sarah leans her head back against the pillow. "Forced leave? They know how much I hate time off. And holidays." She groans, and he squeezes her hand again. Without opening her eyes, she asks, "There's worse news, isn't there?"

"You're going back to LA," he tells her softly.

Her eyes snap open. "What?"

"I mean, I think you should. You need closure."

Sarah can see that he's not going to let up any time soon, so she weighs her answer. "Fine. I'll go." Drew breaks out into a smile, but she quickly adds, "But only if you go to Cadiz."

His smile's gone in an instant. He swallows and turns his face away. "I don't – I don't know," he stammers softly.

She takes his chin in her fingers and gently turns his face back to hers. "What are we so afraid of?" she whispers.

Drew looks at her intently and moistens his lips. "We do this together?"

She flips her head back and forth, imagining herself in LA and him in Cadiz trying to work out their tangled love lives. "Well, in spirit."

He chuckles. "And if it doesn't work out, we've still got each other, right?"

"Always," she promises.

"That's a little pathetic."

Sarah chuckles. "More than just a little."

**All the lights are shining  
So brightly everywhere  
(So brightly everywhere)  
And the sound of children's  
Laughter fills the air  
(Laughter fills the air)  
And everyone is singing  
(oh yeah)  
I hear those sleigh bells ringing  
Santa, won't you bring me the one I really need  
Won't you please bring my baby to me?**

Sarah takes a deep breath and wipes her palms on the thighs of her jeans. She shouldn't be doing this. She shouldn't. She has no reason to have expected him to wait. So why is she here, in the courtyard of Ellie's apartment like nothing's changed?

She shakes her head, turns around, and stops again. Christmas music blares from the apartment, barely concealing the hum of lighthearted conversation and laughter. She's not asking for anything beyond one last look. One glimpse, one glance to know that he's all right, happy, doing well, and she'll disappear from his life. That's all she's asking for.

With one final burst of courage, she swivels on the heel of her Converse low-top and marches toward the door. Swallowing, she knocks deliberately, loud enough to be heard over the noise.

She only has to wait a minute before the door is opened by a very pregnant Ellie. The smile leaves the doctor's face quicker than the courage drains from Sarah's heart.

"What are you doing here?" Ellie inquires.

Sarah's somewhat heartened, because her tone isn't as icy as she expected. But it's not exactly welcoming either.

With no good answer for that question, she asks one of her own. "Is Chuck here?"

Ellie purses her lips, crosses her arms. "He's moving on, you know. He has a good job now. He's doing well for himself."

Sarah nods, her hands in the back pockets of her jeans, and looks down at the ground. "And you think I'm going to screw that up. I understand."

"I just want to know what you're going to do," she says, her tone slightly softened. "Are you here to tear his heart out again?"

Sarah looks up again, directly at her. "I honestly don't know what this is. I just knew I had to see him."

Ellie scrutinizes her, leaving her feeling more vulnerable than she's ever felt. Finally, the brunette gives a small nod. "I'll go see if he wants to talk to you."

"Thank you, Ellie," Sarah says, but Ellie's already turned her back.

She rocks on her feet as she waits, nervous energy coursing through her. When she feels like she's about to burst, the door opens again, and he steps through, taking her breath away.

The picture in the online directory must have been old, and she almost doesn't recognize him. The only thing that's the same is his shoes – his typical black Converses. But everything else has changed in some way. He's wearing black dress slacks, a gray pinstriped shirt with a black vest, the buttons open, and a solid, silk red tie loosely knotted around his collar.

And his hair! What has he done to his hair? He's chopped off all his delicious, adorable curls! She wants to cry out in anguish when she sees how short it now is, the straight, smooth locks sticking up with gel, but realizes she relinquished that right almost two years ago. The short hair is no where near as shocking as his full beard. It's trimmed short, but it stretches from ear to ear.

He carries himself differently, too, more confidently. His straightened, self-assured posture allows her to see that he's filled out nicely, the taut muscles of his arms and chest straining against his shirt.

But his eyes. There's a look in his eyes that she no longer recognizes. Recovering herself, Sarah takes a step toward him but pauses when he recoils.

"What do you want?" he asks, his voice more sad than hateful.

Feeling lightheaded with his rebuff, she forces the air in and out of her lungs with a deep breath. "Don't be angry with me," she pleads. Sarah Walker has never before pleaded for even her life, and here she is pleading for mercy from a man who probably hates her.

"But I am angry with you," he scowls. "I'm angry because you didn't even say goodbye, Sarah!" His breath is ragged now, heavy with rage. "I'm angry because it's been almost two years, and you never contacted me once. Not a letter, not a phone call, not even a stupid message to say how you were doing, to ask how I was! Nothing!"

His words invoke her own fury. "What do you want me to say, Chuck? That I'm a coward, that the very idea of giving up all I'd ever known for a life with you scared the hell out of me and still does?" She compels herself to calm down, shooting down countless arguments in her mind. Defeated, she says, "You know all that already. I know a thousand apologies would never make up for how I acted, but I had to come. I had to see you again . . . to make sure you were okay."

His anger seemingly abated, he nods, contemplating that. "Well, I am. I'm doing fine. Casey and Agent Forrest took good care of me."

She winces at the casual mention of her replacement, then catches on to his phrasing. "'Took'?"

"I'm not the Intersect anymore."

She chuckles ruefully. Of course he wouldn't be. Of course the most glaring obstacle to their relationship would be torn down once she left. "How long?"

"Almost a year ago now," he shrugs, stuffing his hands in his pockets. His eyes narrow. "You didn't know?"

She shakes her head, walking toward and collapsing onto the edge of the fountain. He follows but doesn't sit next to her.

"Then why'd you come?" he asks again.

"Apparently to torture myself. I heard stories about you, wanted to see for myself what I'd given up."

Chuck sits down beside her, and when she looks up at him, his gaze is soft, almost forgiving. He's so close now that she can smell him, smell the mint on his tongue, and feel the warmth of his breath against her cheek. Being near him again is intoxicating, and time and absence have only strengthened his pull on her. If she maybe leans forward an inch or so, she could just . . .

But she acknowledges with a pang that his lips aren't hers to kiss. What hurts worse is that they never were. Maybe her heart would ache less if she had gotten even one day, one night with him to justify them being torn apart in the first place.

She shakes her head to jostle the thoughts of her mind and rises from the fountain. "You're right, though," she says, sniffling away the tears. "I shouldn't have come."

His grasp around her wrist is firm, and he pulls her completely around. He's standing now, his body pressing against hers.

"Sarah," he says huskily.

So much torment and desire are held in that one word that she feels rooted to the cobblestones beneath her feet. Without letting go of her wrist, he roughly cradles her face with his other hand and pulls her to him.

It's nothing like she remembers, or like she expected. It's as rushed as their very first kiss, that night at the docks, but this time he seems to want to prove something to her. She can taste the peppermint martini on his tongue, she can feel the roughness of his beard. That's not Chuck's taste; that's not Chuck's feel either.

But even through all the wrong elements, there's a lurch in the pit of her stomach that tells her that everything about this moment is so, so right.

And that's why, when Chuck takes her hand and leads her away from the apartment, she follows willingly.

**Oh, I don't want a lot for Christmas  
This is all I'm asking for  
(all I'm asking for)  
I just want to see my baby  
Standing right outside my door  
Oh I just want him for my own  
More than you could ever know  
Make my wish come true  
Baby, all I want for Christmas is  
You**

The bed's empty when she wakes up. She can't stop the sinking feeling in her stomach until she turns over and notices the sliver of light falling on the opposite side of the mattress. Following it to its source, she reasons that Chuck must be in the bathroom adjoined to his bedroom.

But she can't hear any sound.

"Chuck?" she calls cautiously as she reaches to the nightstand for her gun.

The door creaks open, revealing Chuck wearing only boxers, shaving cream on his chin and a razor in his hand.

She smiles. "Morning."

"Good morning." His returning smile doesn't quite reach his eyes.

And as wonderful as last night was, she can't help feeling unwelcome this morning. Maybe this was all a mistake . . .

She gets out of bed, thankful that she had enough sense to toss on some shorts and a tank top before falling asleep last night. As she crosses the room, she can feel him watching her in the mirror. She digs through her duffel bag, locates some jeans, and pulls them on straight over her sleepwear. A sense of shame suffuses her, her face reddening, when she realizes that their relationship has been boiled down to a one-night stand and that neither is doing anything to stop it from happening.

After she pulls on the jeans, she takes a long look at him, still in the bathroom shaving. His gaze meets hers in the mirror, his eyes pained.

"You don't have to leave already, you know."

She sighs. "I think I probably should."

It's a veiled plea, one she's not even sure she has a right to, but one she makes anyway.

He says nothing as he washes his face, and she can't bring herself to move. He comes out with a towel around his neck, drying off his chin and cheeks, and she can tell now that he's shaved off most of his beard, leaving just a small patch near his chin, the beginning of a goatee.

"Where will you go?" he asks. "I mean, do you have a mission already?"

She strolls around the foot of the bed and confesses, "No. I'm still on leave from . . . my last one."

He picks up on her change of words halfway through, and his expression takes on a concerned cast. "What? What happened?"

"Nothing I can't handle."

Chuck nods, his lips tight. An uncomfortable silence comes over them. Her answer's angered him, placed yet another barrier between them. The secrets and the lies were part of what tore them apart before. She swallows the tears threatening to burst forth and takes another step toward him.

"I got shot," she says softly.

He looks up sharply. She pulls the sleeve of her tank away to give him a look at a nickel-sized scar on her shoulder. His hand rises involuntarily before he drags it back down.

"It's okay," she says, taking his hand and placing his fingers on her shoulder. "You can feel it. It's just a scar."

"It's still fresh," he grimaces as his index and middle finger lightly brush over the raised skin.

"Didn't you notice it last night?"

"Yeah, I did," he replies, finally looking her in the eye again. "But I didn't realize it was so new. Does it still hurt?"

She shrugs. "It gets sore."

He takes his fingers away, and suddenly the atmosphere is awkward again. She doesn't know whether to flee forever or beg until he takes her back. Instead, she turns her eyes to the dresser, photo frames littering the top of it. Her eyes alight on one of him and a pretty brunette, smiling, their arms wrapped around each other. _Of course it has to be a brunette_, she thinks. _It's always a brunette_.

Swallowing, she points to it and asks, "Who's this?" She has the sinking suspicion it's a new girlfriend but would never voice that aloud.

"Who? Oh, that's Kate."

No explanation. Not a good sign.

"She's an analyst?" Sarah tries to keep the accusation out of the question.

"No, an agent," he laughs, and her heart nearly drops into her stomach.

An _agent_? He's dating an agent? She takes a deep breath, hating to ask, but needing to know.

"Is she your girlfriend?"

He turns to look at her, his eyebrows narrowed irritably. Her cheeks redden. No, he's not the kind of guy to ever cheat on his girlfriend, even if his heart, hopefully, lay somewhere else.

"She's one of the best stationed out here in L.A.," he says, his tone matching the rebuke in his eyes.

Sarah bites her lip to keep from crying out. People used to stay that about her, still do. Not only that she's one of the best in a certain city, but one of the best in the entire agency.

What she would give to hear it from his lips.

"Sorry," she murmurs, chastised, and he takes a step closer. Standing next to her, he points to a second photo, this one showing him and man with light brown hair. They're laughing, and it looks like it was taken at the same time as the first.

"She's engaged to him, Robert Carew," Chuck explains, and she's relieved to hear the patience in his voice. "_He_'s an analyst. And one of my best friends."

She nods, trying to take it all in. Because everything about this is so far from what she had expected. But then again, what had she expected?

To stop her head from spinning, she jokes, "What does Morgan think about that?"

Chuck shrugs. "They get along really well, actually."

She pauses, finding it hard to comprehend that his government colleagues figure so prominently in his personal life. Nothing about this is right. He's not the CIA's most sought-after analyst; he's Chuck Bartowski. He's _her_ Chuck. What happened to the simplicity she had known by his side? The normalcy?

He had been right all along. She had no business reappearing and screwing up his life all over again. She turns around and walks toward her bag.

"I never expected you to come back."

The words freeze her in place. Without facing him, she replies, "Do I not fit into your new five-year plan?" As soon as it's out of her mouth, she squeezes her eyes shut in horror. "I didn't mean it like that."

He ignores her. "All I'm saying is, maybe this is all we were meant to have." His voice is sad, resigned. "Maybe this was our one night, and we're supposed to move on now."

It's so much more final when he says it.

A tear streaks down her cheek. Wiping it away, she nods and walks again towards her duffel. _So this is it_, she thinks. The romance of a lifetime dies out, paltry embers instead of a blaze of passionate glory.

Kneeling beside her bag, Sarah extracts a sweatshirt and pulls it over her head. She reaches back inside and roots around until she locates a bundle of six journals. Standing, she shoulders the duffel bag and sets the books on the bed as she crosses the room.

"I can let myself out," she says sadly.

She moves to go but Chuck stops her with a hand on her wrist. "What are those?"

Their gazes finally meet, and she can see the pain in his eyes. "I couldn't write, so I filled up journals with letters to you."

"Letters you knew you'd never send?"

Sarah nods. "But if this is it, then you deserve to know. I want you to have them."

He contemplates that for a moment before pulling her over to the bed and saying, "I don't think you should leave quite yet." She regards him questioningly, and he asks, "Will you stay while I read them?"

She nods, and they sit on the bed. Sarah settles against the headboard, watching Chuck untie the string binding the journals together and open the first one. Before long, he rests his head against her stomach as he reads. And he reads them all – every single journal, straight through from the first page to the last. She knows she should be embarrassed – some days she had been in the pits of despair and hadn't held back at all when she had written, and many entries were intensely personal, things she'd have a hard time telling him even to his face – but it's hard to feel anything but calm when she's lying here stroking his hair.

Chuck doesn't say a thing as he devours her words. They lie there for hours, and Sarah's starting to get an ache in her lower back when he finally snaps the last book shut, stands, and paces to the window, still clutching a journal in his hand.

Watching him, she sits up. He stares out the window for so long that she's afraid he'll ask her to leave again. After a few minutes, she stands, intending to turn him around and force him to discuss this. But she looses her courage and ends up in the middle of the room, just looking at him, his frame haloed by the late afternoon sun. When he finally turns around, deep sadness is engraved upon his face.

"I think . . ." he begins, his voice soft and wavering, "I think I actually understand a lot of went through your head over the past twenty-one months now."

She nods, a slight grimace on her face. "I'm glad. But it doesn't change anything. I'll go." She turns toward the door. "And I promise not to ever bother you again." Even as she says it, she knows she won't be able to stay away from him for very long.

"No, Sarah, it changes everything," he breathes as he grabs her wrist and spins her around, pulling her into a kiss. It happens too fast for her to thwart it, but when his lips touch hers, she realizes exactly how much she needs him. So she stops fighting it and gives herself over to him, wrapping her arms about his neck, fisting her fingers in his hair. She can barely get a grasp on it, it's so short, but the contact's enough to show him everything she feels.

Chuck gently breaks off the kiss, breathing heavily as he looks in her eyes. He brushes a stray hair from her cheek. "When you left," he says quietly, "I convinced myself that you never loved me. But now I understand that you never wanted to go, and how hard it is for you to say some things to me, things you want to say."

"I'm sorry," she breathes, tasting the salt of her tears as they roll down her cheeks and against her lips. "I'm so, so sorry."

He chuckles lightly, kisses her forehead, and wipes away her tears with his thumbs. "Don't be, Sarah. You have nothing to be sorry about." He kisses her lips again, softly this time. "It's the holidays," he whispers. "I don't know about you, but I'm going to celebrate my Christmas miracle."

**All I want for Christmas is you, baby  
All I want for Christmas is you, baby**

"Are you sure about this?"

Chuck turns around, his hand still holding hers, and closes the distance between them so that their toes are touching. He smiles disarmingly. "I already told Ellie to set an extra place. It'll be fine."

"No," she shakes her head, "I don't think she'll care about dinner, but . . . about me."

His face falls when he notices her distress, and he leads her over to the fountain. They sit on the edge, facing each other, their knees touching. Chuck doesn't let go of her hands.

He gives her a small smile and asks, "What's this about?"

She sighs. "Ellie warned me last night about . . . screwing your life up. I don't want to come back and mess everything up. I want to –"

"Wait, she said that?" Chuck tightens his lips, irritated.

"She was just looking out for you, and I don't blame her. But what I'm saying is," she takes a deep breath and looks in his eyes, "maybe I should figure out the everyday stuff, what I'm doing here, before I get mixed up in holiday . . . stuff."

Chuck's mood immediately swings from annoyed to cheerful. "Sarah, we'll figure this out. But it's Christmas Eve. Can't we just have fun and worry about everything on December 26th?"

Smiling, she nods. "But when you say that we'll figure this out . . .?"

"That's a promise."

He brushes her hair back, cupping her face, and leans down for a kiss. The touch sends a comfortable tingle through her, calming her jittery nerves. When she pulls away, out of the corner of her eye, she can see Ellie spying on them through the window. The doctor has a smile on her face, which Sarah takes as a good sign. Heartened by the sight, she pulls Chuck up off the fountain and they go inside.

Devon greets them happily, acting as if seeing her is nothing out of the ordinary. As he's clapping Chuck on the back, Sarah's able to see, with surprise, just how many people are there. She had stupidly expected only Ellie and Devon, but the addition of Morgan and Anna is no big deal. There's another couple she vaguely remembers meeting, and she decides they must be the Woodcombs' friends and colleagues from the hospital.

Two people she hadn't expected, however, were Kate and Robert. The handsome couple is sitting on the couch, wine glasses in hand, Robert's arm looped around Kate's shoulder. They're laughing at something Morgan's said, but before Sarah can recognize the twinge of jealousy in her heart, Chuck snakes an arm around her waist and kisses her neck.

"You okay?" he asks.

"Mmm-hmm."

"I'll introduce – and reintroduce – everyone in a few minutes, but let's go in and say hi to Ellie, all right?"

She nods, and he takes her by the hand and leads her into the kitchen. Ellie, putting the finishing touches on the ham, looks up as they walk in. She squeezes her brother in a hug, then turns to Sarah and squishes her as well.

"I've missed you," Ellie says, sounding much happier than she did last night.

Sarah, who had thought about Ellie almost as much as she had thought about Chuck over the past two years, lets herself fall into the embrace, somewhat awkward because of the swell of Ellie's belly. "I've missed you, too, Ellie." She pulls back, her eyes shining with tears. "Thanks."

It's not much, but it's all she can say, and Ellie seems to understand all the implications behind it.

Chuck, leaning against the counter, pulls her against him, his arms around her waist.

"So," Ellie says, regarding them with a dazzling smile, "you two worked things out?"

Chuck nods. "We've still got a long way to go," he says, "but I'm confident in our future." He kisses her cheek, and she can feel the goofy smile on his face. "Right, Sarah?"

In that moment, Sarah feels as if everything is right with the world. She knows things have changed, that time has passed, but she also feels as comfortable, as included, and as loved as she did two years ago. And Chuck's laugh is the same ridiculous laugh it was back then.

In this moment, she knows she's where she's meant to be.

And when she wakes up the next morning, pillowed on his chest, there's no doubt or misgiving, only contentment, and hope that they're going to work everything out.

Placing a light kiss on his sleeping lips, she slips out of bed and into the hallway, grabbing her cell phone from the nightstand as she goes. She navigates her way to the unfamiliar kitchen, leans against the counter, and dials Drew's number. He picks up on the second ring.

"Walks," he says, and she immediately recognizes the happiness in his voice. "How are you?"

She smiles. "I'm fantastic."

"Me, too."

Nothing else needs to be said. It's enough for her to hear the happiness in his voice, to know that he's found what he's looking for.

After a few seconds of comfortable silence, he says, "I wish you could meet her. I know you'd love her."

"We still have three weeks left of vacation, you know."

"So it's a 'vacation' now, is it? No longer 'forced leave'?"

Sarah laughs quietly. "Why don't you come to LA for a week or so?"

"Yeah," he says thoughtfully, "I think she'd like it there."

"Would you like it?"

Because that's the final piece of the puzzle. She couldn't bear gaining Chuck only to lose her best friend in Drew.

"Are you telling me that we've been transferred?"

She can practically see him smiling.

"Would you be okay with that?" she asks.

"I think I would love that. I haven't been surfing in years."

"Great," she replies softly. She glances around the darkened kitchen, feeling a slight chill, missing the warmth of Chuck's bed. "I should go, but I'll see you soon?"

"Count on it. And Walks?"

"Yeah."

"Merry Christmas."

"You, too, Drew. You, too."

Hanging up the phone, she tiptoes back to the bedroom and opens the door soundlessly. Chuck's sleeping peacefully, his lips fluttering the slightest bit with his steady breathing. As much as she loves simply looking at him, she loves being beside him, feeling his warmth, even more. So she sneaks under the covers, scooting close so she can lean over him. Carefully, she reaches a hand up to his face and lightly brushes her fingers over his forehead and through his hair.

She places a soft kiss on the corner of his mouth, her heart soaring when she feels his smile beneath her lips.

"I'll grow it back out if you want me to," he says without opening his eyes as he reaches an arm around her waist.

Curling her fingers into his hair, she kisses him again and murmurs, "Keep it however you like it." Chuck smiles at her. "Would you mind if one of my friends came to visit soon? Probably next week."

Instead of taking time to think about it, like she expects, he smiles even wider and says, "Are you kidding? I'd love to meet any of your friends."

She twirls one of his longer locks of hair. "This one's pretty special. He's been my partner for the past twenty-one months." She pauses before adding, "And he was the one who talked some sense into me when I was too afraid to come to LA to find you again."

Chuck grins. "He's my best friend already." She chuckles lightly. "But seriously, thank you for trusting me enough, for trusting in us enough."

Sarah leans down to kiss him softly, and that's all the understanding they need. It's a trust in a shared future, a promise to do everything to see that future through.

She settles her head against his chest, feeling a warm comfort as he wraps his arms protectively around her.

"Mmm," he murmurs sleepily, "Merry Christmas, Sarah."

"Merry Christmas, Chuck," she whispers. "I love you."


	27. Avalanche

Song: "Avalanche," by David Cook.

A/N: Well, when I started this story, I had no idea it would keep on chuggin' for an entire year. But it's come one year, twenty-seven chapters, and nearly 125,000 words (um . . . yeah, makes me feel pathetic, too). Thanks for being such a great audience and for the all the fantastic reviews, comments, and encouragements. This definitely would not have made it this far (or been this enjoyable to write) without you.

So in honor of _Collide_'s one-year anniversary, here's a new chapter. :) (I would have had this up yesterday, on 23rd, but the site had to go and foil my plans. Shucks.)

* * *

**I feel alive beside you  
And all at once, I am whole again  
We fall into each other****  
Your atmosphere is all I'm breathing in  
And in this rush, we are crushed**

He's in Vegas.

He's in a hotel room in Vegas, wearing only his boxer shorts and staring out at the city, a ring on that tell-tale finger.

"Come back to bed."

Chuck turns around, a grin springing to his face at the sight of her. She's propped up on an elbow, the other hand holding the sheets around her chest. Blond hair hangs down in loose waves, framing her face, and he thinks she's never looked more beautiful. The way she smiles at him makes him feel like he's on top of the world, instead of just on the top floor of a hotel.

She repeats the offer, patting the mattress, and, unable to resist, he makes a beeline for the spot. He climbs onto the bed, on top of the covers, and places a gentle kiss on her lips as she brings a hand up to his face. Closing his eyes, he lets her fingertips roam over his eyebrows, his lids, his cheekbones, his smiles. He loves her kiss. He loves her touch.

He loves _her_.

"You okay?" she asks, brushing a few curls off of his forehead.

"Yeah, yeah. It's just . . . this is all kind of surreal, don't you think?"

She giggles. "But in a good way, right?"

He kisses her again, longer this time. He's so close to her that his lips still brush against hers as he says, "You bet." Taking a deep breath, he rests his forehead on hers. "I still don't quite understand, though."

He groans softly as she massages his head.

"Understand what, exactly?"

"How we went from having the strangest relationship in LA to being here, this city, this bed, this marriage. . . a marriage of questionable legality, by the way."

"Don't worry," she chuckles softly. "When we get back home, I fully intend on making it one hundred percent legal. Do you understand that?"

He'd reply, except he's too caught up on the word 'home.' She wants a home with him, and the realization steals the breath from his lungs.

"Chuck?"

"Sarah," he murmurs, pressing a kiss onto her shoulder.

"I'll take that as a 'yes'. As for the rest, well . . ." she begins softly, and her pause makes him pick his head up to look her in the eye. He shifts onto his side as she runs her hand through his hair again, regarding him sadly. "You knew about the new Intersect, right?" He nods, kissing the heel of her hand as it drifts down the side of his face toward his mouth. "It'll be online in less than a month."

"And?" he prompts gently.

She whispers, "And I'm scared that it'll work and that the government will no longer have a use for you."

He's quiet as she lets him connect the pieces. Her departure, his disappearance . . .

His voice shakes as he asks, "So you married me to protect me? It's just another part of your job?"

"No," she shakes her head vigorously, rolling over him and running her thumb along his cheek. "Of course not. I married you because I love you. _I love you, Chuck Bartowski_. Don't you ever doubt that." She licks her lips and continues in a low, firm voice. "There were other options. I picked this one because of how much you mean to me, and because of the life it would allow us to lead."

His eyebrows creep upwards. He's loath to make a decision without hearing a full explanation. "What kind of life is that?"

Gazing at him intently, she answers, "We could have run. I could have grabbed you and run. We never could have stayed in the same place for more than a few days at a time. That was the second best choice, but now we can stay in LA, be with Ellie and Awesome. You can get a real job, something you love, something you've always wanted to do. And I'll be right by your side the entire time, looking after you." She swallows, and her tone of voice matches the gravity in her eyes when she promises, "I'll never let anyone hurt you, Chuck."

Her hand never leaves his hair, and for some reason he finds strength in that. He loves that she loves to touch his curly, unruly hair.

His mouth curves into a half-smile. "The entire time?"

She takes a deep breath, her eyes searching his almost as if she's afraid of his reaction. "Maybe not the entire time. I still haven't figured this out all the way. I may have to go on missions from time to time."

But instead of getting angry, he breaks out into a happy grin. "You dragged me off to Vegas without coming up with a thorough plan?" Off her sheepish nod, he says, "Look at you, Sarah Walker, being all spontaneous."

Laughing, she places a finger over his lips. "Uh-uh. None of that. It's Sarah Bartowski now."

He accepts her kiss, soft and loving, and is once again grateful for and perplexed at winning the affection of this enigmatic beauty. "You said you wanted to make it legal when we get back," he prompts cautiously. She nods, grinning giddily, and he continues, "Do you want a real wedding? Like Ellie and Awesome's was? Maybe something big and fancy."

Still smiling, she shakes her head. "No, I don't need anything like that. Give me the judge and a piece of paper that says we're husband and wife and I'll be more than happy."

He runs his fingers through her hair. "You mean years down the road, you wouldn't regret not having a big wedding?"

She contemplates that a moment, then replies, "I'll regret that I can't give Ellie the opportunity to be a bridesmaid, to repay everything she's done for me."

Smiling, he hugs her tighter, pulls her down close enough for their foreheads to touch. "She just loves that you're around, that you're there to bring me out of my shell. That's enough for her."

Sarah brings her lips to his again. "And you're enough for me."

**Carry me down  
Rolling in your arms  
Cause I can't remember ever falling this hard  
Tell me tonight  
All that we had planned  
Was it nothing more than noise inside my head  
****Crashing down, crashing down  
In your avalanche, in your avalanche**

Chuck loosens his tie as he walks up the sidewalk towards his house. A smile comes to his face when he opens the front door and the smell of dinner assaults his nostrils. He always loves when Sarah cooks, because his skills in the kitchen are sub par, and she seems to like to make up for her time away by being overly domestic. He always teases her about going from extreme to the other, drawing a smile from her.

But he's in for a surprise when he walks into the kitchen to find not only Sarah, but also Casey, making dinner. Sarah hovers by the counter, sprinkling spices over chicken breasts, while Casey, his shirtsleeves rolled up to his elbows and an apron tied expertly around his torso, stands at the table, rolling out a pie crust, a bowl of sliced, spiced apples already at his side.

Chuck pauses in the doorway, his eyebrows almost so high they've nearly disappeared into his hair.

"This is . . . wholly unexpected."

Sarah and Casey look up, and there's a familiar, friendly scowl on the latter's face. Sarah, stepping forward to greet him, slides an arm around Chuck's waist and kisses his cheek.

"Hey, sweetie," she says with a smile. "How was your day?"

"Fine," he says, giving her another short kiss, this time on the lips. "Yours?"

He moves to sling his messenger bag onto a kitchen chair until he's stopped by a stern gesture from Casey.

"Uh uh uh, Bartowski," the NSA agent says with a wag of his finger, "Don't you know how to properly take care of your home? Food belongs in the kitchen. Work stuff belongs in the study." He shakes his head. "I'm surprised Walker hasn't whipped you into shape yet. After all, it's been over ten months now."

Sarah laughs and pats Chuck on the waist. "My day was fine. As you can see, I picked up someone on the way home."

Chuck throws the bag back onto his shoulder with a smile as he turns to deposit his bag in the study. "I've missed you, Casey," he says on the way out.

He walks back into the kitchen, accompanied by their tabby cat – Sarah's cat, really – Mr. Bubbles. Shortly after their marriage, after the new Intersect went online, she had insisted on getting a pet. As she had never owned a pet before, it's a fitting completion to the domestic picture, and Mr. Bubs (as Chuck affectionately refers to him) has become uncommonly attached to Sarah. Chuck swears he falls into fits of depressions when she's away, mewing for hours on end, but Sarah only laughs when he tries to tell her.

He picks up Mr. Bubbles and takes a seat at the table. Scratching the cat behind his ears, he watches his wife and friend bustle around. "Can I help?"

Casey snorts without glancing up. "Same bit as it's always been, Chuckster. You just sit there, and Walker and I will do most of the work."

Chuck can't help but smile, because Casey hasn't changed a bit.

"Here, Chuck," Sarah says, walking to the table with a cutting board, a knife, and a bowl of vegetables. "Make some salad?"

He nods, and she runs her fingers through his hair as she walks back to the counter. Shifting Mr. Bubbles to the next chair, Chuck washes his hands and gets started on the salad.

"So," he begins conversationally, "what actually brings you here, Casey?"

The older man shrugs. "It's one of your random check-ins. We need to make sure the secrets we couldn't get out are staying in your head."

"Isn't that Sarah's job?"

"The NSA likes to keep a foot in the game. Can't let the CIA have all the fun now, can we?" Casey shoots a smirk at Sarah. "Then again, doesn't look like the housewife and I have the same idea of 'fun' anymore."

Sarah sends a look over her shoulder. "Watch it, Casey," she warns playfully. "I can still kick your butt, you know. Alternatively, if you ever need me to save your ass, I'm just a call away."

He grins. "You always were my best partner." Tilting his head at Chuck, he adds, "You weren't so bad yourself, kid."

"Aww, look at that, sweetie," Chuck laughs. "Casey's getting nostalgic."

"So what do you do when Walker and I are off saving the world?"

"You know how it is. All night video gaming sessions, _Star Trek_ marathons, massive _Halo_ tourneys. All the things you work so hard to protect, Case." When Sarah looks at him with a raised eyebrow, he switches gears. "Seriously, though, Morgan and I started up a video game company."

"Man," he chuckles, "am I glad I got out of here before that started."

"Come on, Casey! You can't deny how much you liked Morgan."

Luckily, Sarah jumps in before Casey's low growl turns any deadlier. "Chuck and Morgan are doing very well. Aren't you, sweetie?" she asks.

"What?" He asks it absently, focusing on chopping up a cucumber. "Oh, yeah. Yeah, we're very close . . . to finishing our first game," he finishes somewhat lamely.

The information seems to amuse his friend. "Well, now. How's it feel to be a kept man, Bartowski?"

Chuck pulls a mock frown. "Heh, very funny."

"All right," Sarah says, coming to the table. "Play nice now, boys."

Casey clears his throat, and the teasing look fades from his eye. "Down to business, then." He looks intently at Chuck, who has a hard time taking him seriously when he's wearing an apron and is covered in flour. "Are you having any flashes?"

Chuck shakes his head. "Just the once. A few months ago, when I was at a game and comic convention. But I had Sarah call it in right away, and she told me everything was taken care of. That was the only time since the false upload last year."

"Yeah," Casey says with a low, meditative growl. "That incident was taken care of."

"And it's good that I've only had one flash?"

"You're certainly flying lower on the government's radar these days."

"That's always a plus."

"And we're going to keep it that way, aren't we?" Sarah asks with a playful warning in her eye.

"Of course," Chuck concurs.

Ellie and Awesome arrive an hour and a half later, full of good humor and conversation. Casey seems almost overwhelmed when Ellie wraps him in a warm hug. Dinner goes swimmingly, the conversation as abundant as the wine, and Chuck simply sits back and watches his family, feeling a familiar contentment suffuse him.

The evening goes by too quickly, and Casey's getting ready to leave all-too-soon. The NSA agent bids the Woodcombs good night in the living room before following Sarah to the foyer. They converse in a whisper for a moment before she smiles and coaxes him into a tentative hug.

Chuck swears Casey's eyes are shining when he turns to say goodbye to him. Casey grips his right hand firmly and claps him on the shoulder with his left.

Leaning forward, he whispers threateningly, "You hurt her, I'll break your neck."

In the first year or two of their acquaintance, Casey's tone alone probably would have had Chuck's knees knocking together in fear. But now, he understands the menace in his former colleague's words, especially since he said something remarkably similar shortly after their marriage was legalized.

Chuck nods, completely serious when he answers, "You have nothing to worry about, big guy."

Casey returns the nod with a gruff grunt and heads back toward the door. "Until next time."

Sarah waves from the porch as he drives away, and Chuck, sliding his arms around her waist, rests his head on her shoulder.

"He's a happy person," he muses softly.

"Mmm-hmm," she responds, her arms on top of his.

"Can't wait until his next visit."

**These scars we wear remind us  
The more we change, the more we're all the same  
Swept up in this emotion****  
We fumble through and make the same mistakes  
As we are led to the edge**

It's what he expected, but his heart still sinks a little in his chest when the call goes to voicemail.

"Hey, Sarah," he says, attempting unsuccessfully to keep the disappointment out of his voice. "It's just me. I know I'm not supposed to call a lot when you're away, but . . . we made our first deal." A small smile comes to his face, and he lets out his breath in a _whoosh_. "So, I just wanted to let you know. Morgan, and the rest of the crew, and I will probably go and celebrate somewhere tonight." He pauses, uncertain once again. Softly, he says, "I miss you," and he hangs up before he lets anything else slip.

He holds the cell phone tightly, pressing it to his forehead, when Morgan comes up behind him, happy as a lark.

"Chuck!" he shouts cheerfully, slapping him on the back. "Come on, no long faces! We're celebrating tonight!"

And so Chuck lets himself be dragged off by Morgan and all the other employees to the local bar. By the third round, he figures he's put in enough of an appearance, and he sneaks out the side door, throwing one last glance at his team, his _friends_. He has no right to drag them down, and he hates that he can't gather the strength to enjoy this with them.

He sleeps fitfully that night, acutely feeling the lack of her presence. Even with the whole bed to himself, he stays on one side in a vain attempt at pretense.

The good mood and morale of the office last the rest of the week, but by Friday, Chuck feels like he's dragging his feet everywhere he goes. So when he gets home that evening, he grabs a Coke from the fridge and falls onto the living room couch with the intention of mindlessly watching television for hours upon end.

By the third episode of "Star Trek," he's fully stretched out on the couch, his shoes kicked off next to the coffee table, which holds the plate from his dinner of leftover pizza. Mr. Bubbles is curled up on the top of the couch, just outside of petting range. Chuck undoes another button of his shirt and shifts positions in an effort to get more comfortable, punching the pillow beneath his head and shoulders into frustrated submission.

When he hears the distinct sound of someone clearing their throat, Chuck almost falls off the couch.

Gulping, he turns his head slowly, because he never quite got used to the spy thing even when he was a part of it, and if there's a baddie in his home, then that's even worse.

But one glance of that blond hair and he's gone, his breath caught in his throat.

Sarah stands in the doorway between the living room and the kitchen with her arms crossed over her chest, a light smirk on her face. "What?" she asks playfully. "Have I finally managed to render you speechless?"

Before he can come up with a suitable retort, Chuck leaps off the couch and crosses to her, scooping her up in his arms and planting the biggest, happiest welcome-home kiss he's ever given on her lips. When he finally pulls away, he's out of breath.

Brushing back her hair, he pants, "I . . . I can't believe you're here."

She tilts her head, smiling. "I got your message. I came as soon as I could."

"I didn't mean to make you rush," he says, blushing and glancing down. He still hasn't quite figured this out. And she's still figuring out how to balance work and life with him.

She lightly runs her fingers across his cheek and says, "No, you didn't. But I'm here now." She smiles. "And so glad to be home." Taking his hand, she drags him over to the couch and sits beside him. "I got you something."

"Oh, yeah? You didn't have to do that."

She takes a small velvet box out of her jacket pocket and hands it to him. He pries it open to find an elegant pair of silver cufflinks, and his eyes go wide.

"I wanted to get you something to celebrate your company's first milestone," she explains. "They're from the finest silversmith in France."

"Wow," he says quietly. "These are . . . great, honey. Thanks."

"You don't like them, do you?" Sarah asks, a smile playing over her face.

"No, no, no. I love them! And now I actually wear suits, so that's perfect." He's starting to ramble, he knows, but he can't stop himself. Cufflinks? He's not even sure he knows how to put on cufflinks, and even for work, he tries to wear suits as infrequently as possible.

She laughs, and the familiar sound calms him. "It's all right, Chuck," she tells him. "Because I got you something else."

She brings out another box, the same size, the same shape, and he grimaces in bewilderment. It seems like another pair of cuff links, he guesses gold this time, and his stomach sinks as a thought flits across his mind. He thought she knew him better than this. He thought she knew how much he hates being in the public eye, doing the game presentations and going to the release parties.

But the expectant look on her face urges him to open it, so open it he does. As he expected, it's another pair of cufflinks. But instead of plain gold ones, they're mini Darth Vader helmets.

"No way!" he says with an incredulous laugh. "These are so cool!"

Grinning, she latches her arms about his neck. "I thought you might like those better. The other ones are for show, formal stuff, you know."

Chuck expresses his thanks with a kiss, and all his previous doubt melts away. Of course she knows him. She knows him almost better than he knows himself.

Sighing contentedly, Sarah wraps her arms around his torso and rests her head against his chest. "I'm sorry I wasn't here to celebrate."

"No, it's okay," he says, stroking her hair. Now that she's here, he feels like life couldn't get any better. All the worries and cares of just a few hours ago have dissolved in the space of a few minutes. He can touch her, feel her, and that tangibility and realness fill his heart to the bursting point.

"I'm sorry, Chuck," she repeats in a murmur, giving his waist a squeeze. "The reality is that I'm not going to be around all the time. I'm going to miss some things, probably some important things." She tilts her head to look up at him. "But you need to know that I'll be sorrier every time I miss something." Her mouth quirks into an affectionate smile. "And that I love you."

Chuck grins, kisses her forehead. "We'll figure this out, Sarah. But I think we've been doing pretty well so far."

"Me, too." She reaches up to place a lingering kiss on his lips.

He murmurs in contentment. "And when you're off on your adventures," he says quietly, his thumb stroking her cheek, "I hope, somewhere in the back of your mind, you remember how much _I_ love _you_."

"Don't worry," she whispers. "That's something I could never forget."

She sits up and runs a hand through his hair. He loves it when she plays with his hair. The contact has become a familiar, reassuring one.

"Now, Mr. Bartowski," she says, a playful grin on her face. "Are you going to give me a proper welcome home or not?"

Lifting her easily into his arms and heading down the hallway, he laughs and answers, "You bet, Mrs. Bartowski."

**Carry me down  
Rolling in your arms  
Cause I can't remember ever falling this hard  
Tell me tonight  
****All that we had planned  
Was it nothing more than noise inside my head**

Chuck dashes through the hallways of the hospital, cursing the city traffic. Sarah's going to kill him. She's already hormonal, and he can only imagine what she's going to do to him when they get home. At least, between the appointment and lunch with Ellie and Awesome, he'll have a few hours respite until the inevitable scolding. But for now, he glances at his watch as he rounds a corner, almost colliding with a nurse on the other side. Apologizing as profusely as he can while barreling past, he continues on his way and screeches to a halt in front of the exam room.

He takes a moment to collect himself, breathing deeply, doubled over with his hands on his knees, before bursting into the room. The doctor and his very cross-looking wife look up as he comes in.

"Mr. Bartowski, very nice of you to join us," Dr. Kent says with a vacant smile, and Chuck can't tell if it's sarcasm or not.

He's an older, no-nonsense kind of guy, reminding Chuck almost of Doc Cottle (but without the smoking), but Ellie and Devon had said he was one of the best in LA. And for Sarah, he won't settle for less than the best. Still, Chuck wonders absently if he can get him to crack a genuine smile.

He glances at his wife, who does not look happy _at all_. The torso of her shirt is pulled up to her chest, and her belly is splattered with pale blue gel. He grimaces as he watches Dr. Kent run the machine over her slightly-bulging stomach. She clears her throat, drawing his attention back to her.

"Oh, right," he murmurs, coming to her side. He kisses her on the forehead and takes hold of her hand, giving it a light squeeze. "I'm so, so sorry, Sarah. Traffic was horrendous. I swear I left on time."

Sarah rolls her eyes and pulls him down for a kiss. "Fine," she mutters, trying unsuccessfully to sound angry, "but don't let it happen again, okay, Mister?"

"Right-o," he grins, silently thankful that she let him off the hook so quickly.

"Well, kids," Dr. Kent says, pointing to the screen, "that's your little bundle of joy."

They turn their eyes to the monitor, and Sarah's grip on his hand suddenly tightens.

"This is it, Chuck," she whispers. "That's our baby."

His grin widens as he lets out a soft chuckle. "Yeah," he breathes, kissing her temple. "Yeah, it is."

"Well," Dr Kent says gruffly, "You want to know the sex of the little bugger?"

Chuck looks at Sarah, his eyebrows raised, and she looks back with the same expression. They always seem to forget to talk about the big issues in a timely fashion. She raises her shoulder a few inches, silently questioning him.

"You know what?" he asks softly, a smile on his face. "I don't think we have enough surprises in our life."

Glancing back at Dr. Kent, Sarah says, "No, thanks, Doc. We want to be surprised."

Kent chuckles skeptically, but Chuck thinks he can see the hint of a real smile on his face. "Suit yourself."

And in a few minutes, they've got a brand new sonogram photo of their baby to show to Ellie and Awesome when they meet them for lunch an hour later. They meet at his sister's current favorite restaurant, an out-of-the-way Brazilian place just outside of the city. Ellie, seven months pregnant to Sarah's four, greets them both with enthusiastic hugs. When they show her and Devon the picture, it starts a gush of speculation about parenthood.

"Can you believe we've come this far?" Ellie asks, and Chuck knows she's thinking of his so-called 'Morgan years,' when he had almost lost contact with real life because he'd been too consumed with online and video games.

Sarah smiles at Chuck, massaging the back of his neck. "I know Chuck and I have certainly come a long way. Haven't we, sweetie?"

"We have indeed." He grins, leaning in for a short kiss, because his sister and her husband will never know how rocky their relationship was at the start. As he looks around at his family, at his incandescent wife, at his cheerful sister, at his laughing brother-in-law, a warm feeling surges into his chest.

"Man," Devon says in his characteristic baritone, "I can't tell you how pumped I am that our kids are going to be the same age. Chuck, dude! How cool would it be if we both had sons? We could take them on father-son camping trips, take them to ball games, play tackle football in the backyard."

"Yeah, Devon," he replies with a chuckle. Glancing at his wife, he adds, "Or maybe we'll both have girls."

Awesome pauses in contemplation then raises an eyebrow mischievously. "We could always scare the wits out of their boyfriends."

Ellie's bright laughter rings out. "I'd like to see Chuck threaten anyone."

"I don't know, Ellie," Sarah chuckles. "You'd be surprised at how intimidating he can be."

Ellie looks curiously at her sister-in-law. "Chuck's threatened someone before?"

"Oh, you know," Sarah backtracks quickly, shrugging, "all the hormonal teenage boys that used to frequent the Wienerlicious and the Orange Orange." She puts her hand over his, smiling sweetly at him. "He thought it was his responsibility to try to make them keep their eyes to themselves."

Feeling the need to defend himself, Chuck speaks up. "Hey, now, was it my fault your various jobs kept you in such . . . eye-catching outfits?"

Sarah gives his hand a squeeze. "Of course not, honey."

"Oh, Chuck," Ellie gushes, "that's so adorable."

"Yeah," Devon agrees as he slides a comfortable arm around his wife. "You two are going to make outstanding parents."

Chuck leans toward his wife, a smile on his face. Her smile is not quite as wide, not quite as brilliant as his, and only he can see the worry behind her gaze. She lies awake at night, agonizing over whether she can rise to this challenge, whether she can transform from kick-ass secret agent to overbearing parent in just nine months. And every night he holds her, whispers reassurances that she'll be an amazing mother, until she falls asleep with a faint smile gracing her lips.

"Yeah," he replies softly, still smiling at his wife. "I think we all are."

Ellie chuckles, looking at Devon and laying a hand on his broad chest. Speaking to everyone, she asks, "It's going to be an adventure, isn't it?"

Chuck places a hand on the side of Sarah's face, and she leans into his touch, briefly closing her eyes at the contact. Running his thumb along her cheekbone, he answers, "Yeah, it sure is."

**Carry me down  
Rolling in your arms  
Cause I can't remember ever falling this hard  
Tell me tonight  
All that we had planned  
Was it nothing more than noise inside our hands  
Crashing down, crashing down  
Or was it nothing more than noise inside our hands  
Crashing down, crashing down**

"Daddy!"

Chuck lifts his two-year-old daughter into his arms and swings her around. Evie giggles delightedly, her light brown curls bouncing in the wind. He settles her against his hip and carries her into the back yard, where most of the guests for her birthday party are already assembled. Ellie and Awesome and their sons Evan and Archer, Morgan and Anna, Jeff and Lester are all here. Even Casey managed to clear his busy schedule and swing by to see his goddaughter turn two.

The only person missing is Sarah.

"Where's Mama?"

Chuck sighs, setting Evie down on the grass next to her Aunt Ellie. "She'll be here, pumpkin."

"Promise?"

Stooping, he nods solemnly and holds out his pinky for the time-honored tradition of a pinky swear. "Promise."

But as he rises and looks toward the house, his heart sinks. It's already one in the afternoon and she hasn't even called. During their four years of marriage, he's learned how to handle her being away, but that doesn't mean he's gotten used to her missing important events like this.

Chuck's spirits depress even further when another hour goes by without her appearance. Jeff wants to cut the cake, but he won't let them, insisting on holding off for just a little while longer. The grown-ups get together a game of wiffleball, Devon and Casey teaching Evan and Evie the sport, but his heart's not in it, so he sits on the sidelines with Ellie and the three-month-old Archer.

"You okay, Chuck?" his sister asks.

He gives her a half-hearted smile, reaching out to take Archer's hands and swing them back and forth. "I'm fine. Just tired."

"Come on, Chuck" Ellie answers in that overly-concerned tone she hasn't had to adopt in a long time. "You're my brother. I know you. So what's really the matter?"

"I just miss Sarah," he shrugs, not taking his eyes from his nephew.

"Chuck," Ellie says emphatically, her voice enough to make him look her in the eyes. "Did she promise she would be here?" He nods. "Then she will be."

Ellie, smiling, lays a hand on his forearm, and he can't help but trust her.

"I know," he replies softly. "I just hope it doesn't take her much longer."

She's spared from replying to his remark by the sound of a motorcycle gunning through the neighborhood. She looks around curiously. "Do you hear that? I didn't realize any of your neighbors had motorcycles."

Chuck frowns. The game company had taken off a few months before Evie's birth, and Chuck and Sarah had taken the opportunity to move into a new home, a bigger one in a more secluded area. It has a big backyard for Evie, Evan, and Archer, enough space inside for Sarah's training activities on her days off and Chuck's gaming parties, and enough space between lots to ensure that the neighbors don't figure out Sarah's real job. So there really shouldn't be any noise pollution, even from the nearest neighbors.

"Neither did I," he says. "I'll go check it out."

As he walks around the side of the house, the sound grows louder. He reaches the front of the house just as a black motorcycle pulls into their driveway. He sticks his hands into his pockets and tilts his head, narrowing his eyes to get a good look at the rider.

The cyclist, wearing jeans, hiking boots, and a black tank top, pulls up a few feet from him and kills the engine. They regard each other curiously for a moment, but the tinted visor prevents Chuck from getting a look at her face. She takes off her helmet, shaking out her long blonde hair, and he finds himself face-to-face with his mischievous wife.

Once Chuck's shock wears off, which takes a moment, he manages to inject some confidence into his words when he asks, "Always have to make an entrance, don't you?"

Sarah just grins and beckons him forward with a tilt of her head. Complying readily, he chuckles, strolls over, and rests his hands on her hips. He inclines his head, letting his lips hover a scant centimeter from hers until he can feel the hitch in her lungs before kissing her. She pulls him closer, her hands fisting in his hair, and doesn't let him go until his lungs are straining for air.

When she finally releases him, his chest is heaving as he struggles for breath. She grins at him, her fingers still working their way through his curls. The sensation feels so good, so familiar, that he closes his eyes in pure enjoyment.

"Welcome home," he gasps softly.

Sarah gives him a peck on the lips before dismounting gracefully from the motorcycle, taking his hand, and pulling him toward the side of the house. He throws a glance from his windblown, stunningly sexy wife back to the sleek black bike.

"You do know that you're playing into every single one of my spy fantasies right now, don't you?"

"Oh, honey," she chuckles. "You're so predictable."

And with a laugh, she leads him by the hand to the back yard. Evie, who spots her at once, drops the plastic wiffle bat she's holding and runs from Uncle Casey and Uncle Awesome's sports lesson over to Sarah's outstretched arms.

"Mama!"

"Hey there, munchkin!" Sarah scoops up the brunette beauty, sending her wispy curls flying in the breeze. "How's my big girl?"

Evie giggles with delight at being in her mother's arms, and Sarah's grin is just as wide. Chuck watches them happily until his little girl waves him over and wraps her tiny arms around his neck, pulling him in for a group hug until his head is buried in Evie's shoulder and Sarah's hair is tickling his neck. He smiles, hugging both of his girls and feeling as if this day couldn't get any better.

It's a feeling he'll remember later that night, when all the guests have departed and he's sitting exhausted on the couch. Sarah walks into the living room, a cup of lemonade in her hand. She collapses onto the couch next to him.

Smiling, he twirls a lock of her hair. "The munchkin all tucked in?"

"Yep," she nods. "Fast asleep."

"I'm really glad you made it today," he sighs.

She snuggles into him, nuzzles his neck, and murmurs, "I always make it."

"Yeah, you do," he chuckles. "And it always surprises me." Sarah's only answer is a half-hearted shrug. "Either you're really good," he continues, "or you're hiding something from me."

After swallowing a sip of lemonade, she feigns being affronted and asks, "You don't think I'm as good as everyone says I am?"

"Oh, I think you're better." He smiles, placing a kiss on her jaw. "I just think there's more to it than that."

Sarah sets her cup of lemonade down on the coffee table and places her hands on his chest, pushing him gently onto his back, before she kisses him.

He chuckles through the kiss. "Wait, wait, wait," he says, hooking a strand of hair behind her ear.

"All right, fine," she says with an exaggerated eye roll, settling herself comfortably upon his chest. "Since I can tell you won't stop until you get the whole story, I'll tell you right now that I have an understanding with the Director."

He quirks an eyebrow. "An understanding?"

"Mm-hmm," she nods. She runs a finger down his cheek, and her voice is softer when she continues. "After we got married, I kind of . . . threatened him with my resignation if anyone ever tried to harm you again." She smiles sheepishly, leaning her forehead against his chest.

Cradling her head with a hand, he asks incredulously, "You what?"

She chuckles into his shirt. "And I told him he'd have to work around my schedule if he wanted to keep me as an agent."

Chuck lets out a soft peal of laughter. "And he didn't fire you on the spot?"

"Guess he values me," she shrugs, lifting her head and resting her chin on his chest. "Also," she says, her smile widening, "I'll be sticking around for a while."

He looks at her curiously. The last time she had said that . . . His eyes widen in understanding.

Sarah snakes her arms round his waist and stretches to place a soft kiss on the underside of his chin. She grins. "I'm pregnant."

**I feel alive beside you  
And all at once, I am whole again**


	28. Oxygen

Song: "Oxygen," New Found Glory.

A/N: Thanks for the great response to _Mai Tais_! After the vicious reaction to Cole's first episode, I was kind of expecting a little tar and some feathers, but I'm glad that the majority enjoyed the story. Cole's not so bad, is he? :)

A huge thank you to **GoldenGirl** for reading this over not once but twice.

* * *

Sarah walks swiftly through the doors of the Buy More and heads straight for the home theater room. She's dressed in her Orange Orange uniform, her hair flying behind her as she rushes down the main aisle. Morgan meets her halfway, and the worry in his eyes is almost as great as her own.

"Hey," she greets, breathless with anxiety more than exhaustion. "How is he?"

"He was sleeping when I checked on him about ten minutes ago," Morgan replies as he struggles to keep up with Sarah. "We turned off the lights, shut the blinds, gave him some water, but I don't think he's any better than he was when he got the headache."

"When was that?"

They're outside the theater room now, and she's suddenly afraid to go in.

Morgan looks at the ceiling thoughtfully. "Close to an hour ago."

Sarah nods, her mouth thin. "Thanks for taking care of him, Morgan," she says.

Her hand frozen on the door handle, she takes a deep breath to steel herself before entering. The room is dim, and it takes a moment for her eyes to adjust. Chuck's lying on the couch, holding an ice pack to his forehead, his face locked in a pained grimace.

She takes in the sight of him in a second, then rushes over to him. Kneeling beside the couch, she takes his face gently in her hands. Chuck's lip twitch at the contact, but he doesn't open his eyes.

"Hey," she says softly, running her hand down his cheek. "Hey, Chuck. Wake up."

He groans, blinks his eyes open.

"Hey," she repeats. "How are you feeling?"

He inhales deeply, managing a weak smile. "Hey," he says, his voice raspy, "I don't really know what happened. I flashed and . . . came down with this migraine all of a sudden . . ." He trails off, his voice thin, and he closes his eyes again.

"I know, it's okay," she whispers in an attempt at consolation, ignoring the information about his flash and trusting that Casey's taken care of that by now. Carefully, she takes the icepack from his forehead and runs a hand through his hair. "I'm going to take you home now, okay?"

He looks at her from under heavy lids and nods. She helps him sit up slowly, and she and Morgan help him out to the parking lot and into her car. Twenty minutes later, they're lying next to each other on the bed in their apartment. She's unknotted his tie, unbuttoned the top two buttons of his work shirt, propped up his head beneath three pillows, and made him take four aspirin, but he's still mostly unresponsive. Every once in a while, he'll offer a 'yes' or 'no' to her questions, but mostly it's just a groan or a shake of the head. So she lies next to him, her hand against his chest, and watches him try to sleep.

The dim light in the room throws shadows over his face, still contorted in pain. His brow is perpetually furrowed beneath the icepack, and his hand is clenched tightly, only relaxing when she takes it in her own.

Having never dealt with this before, she doesn't know what more to do for him besides stay beside him and comfort him. She drifts into an uneasy sleep, waking when he shifts even the slightest bit. Near two in the afternoon, she awakens and notices that the ice pack has slipped from his forehead. Leaning up, Sarah takes it from the pillow and brushes back his bangs.

His eyes flutter open.

"Chuck," she whispers, her fingers massaging the crease in his brow. "Are you feeling any better?"

He turns his head slowly, looks her in the eye, and answers quietly, "A little, yeah." Her eyes narrowed in scrutiny, she looks down at him. "Come on, Sarah," he says, mustering up some energy to inject into his voice, "I've taken enough drugs to knock out a small animal. I'll be fine."

She sighs, wanting so much just to believe him. But it's been almost three hours. He should be getting better. The fact that he isn't visibly improving worries her. What worries her even more is the look in his eye, the one that says he's hiding something from her. And if he's trying to hide from her how bad the pain really is, trying to protect her . . .

Stroking his hair, she swallows down the raw fear that threatens to bubble up and explode.

"It's getting pretty late," she says in an attempt to get her mind off of the fact that this headache could be indicative of much worse things to come. "Are you hungry?"

He shakes his head and then grumbles, "I can't sleep anymore."

"It's okay," she reassures him as she helps him into a sitting position. "Let me get you a glass of water or something."

Chuck smiles gratefully, giving her hand a squeeze as she rises from the bed. "Could you maybe get me something to read, too?"

She nods and, as she walks by his desk, picks up a computer magazine. She holds it up. "This okay?"

He nods. "Thanks."

Strangely reluctant to leave his side, she leans over him, runs a hand through his hair, and places a soft kiss on his forehead. "I'll be right back," she whispers. "Don't strain your eyes."

She grabs her phone from the bedside table on her way out of the room and dials Casey's number as she heads down the hallway.

Her partner answers with a gruff, "Hello?"

"Casey, it's Sarah. Chuck's not getting any better."

Casey sighs. "Not at all?"

"It doesn't seem like it." Reaching the kitchen, she sits down at the table and rests her head in her hand. She swallows, her mouth dry. "This is serious, Casey. We need help. I don't know what else to do." Her voice falters with the confession.

"You want to call Beckman?" he asks patiently.

"Maybe she knows more than we do. Maybe she can get us in touch with whoever built the Intersect, or with a doctor who could help." Sarah pauses, feeling her sense of control slowly slip away. "Casey, the reality is that we don't know how to handle a situation like this."

"Okay," he replies. "I'll contact Beckman and see if she has any information that could help you. You keep an eye on him. Give it a few more hours. If he's not feeling any better by five, take him to the hospital."

Running a hand through her loose hair, she lets out a breath. "Okay, yeah. I can do that."

"Good." There's a pause before Casey adds, "He'll be okay."

She doesn't have the courage or the confidence to answer that remark, merely mumbles a goodbye and ends the call before grabbing a glass from the cabinet. As she fills it with ice and water, she hears things falling, the noise coming from Chuck's room.

"Chuck?" she calls. "Everything okay?"

There's no answer. The silence makes Sarah even more uneasy than the noise did. She finishes filling the glass and turns back to the bedroom. When his scream cuts through the air, the glass she's holding drops from her hands and shatters into a hundred pieces, the water splashing all over the floor.

**Constantly connected to the total unexpected  
I'm a con, a stealer of hearts  
I only keep this facade  
To keep you on your toes  
I'll take a glance while you sleep at night  
Right from under your nose  
So don't leave me**

The hospital room is dark, gloomy, just a small lamp on the bedside table for light. Visiting hours have long since ended, but Chuck's in a CIA-sanctioned room with two lower-level agents posted outside round-the-clock. Sarah's been by his bedside for over five hours now, just watching him as he sleeps. The drugs had knocked him out quickly, and since the CIA doctor Beckman approved won't be here until the morning, it's best that he gets to sleep for a while.

But, as she sits next to him, his hand in hers, the bleakness of the situation eats away at Sarah, and she can do nothing to stop it. She runs her thumb over the back of his hand, an attempt to soothe the tempest within herself.

Unable to look away for very long, she raises her eyes to look at him again. His face is peaceful, not at all like it was earlier this afternoon. The sight sends an ache through her chest. He shouldn't be here. He shouldn't be here at all. There's a terror in the back of her mind, and she can't help wondering whether his work for the past two and a half years – what the government did to him – caused this.

Her mouth twitches as the thought flies through her mind. She'll never forgive herself if his life as the Intersect, his life with _her_, has driven him here.

Sarah reaches up to caress his face, her fingers gliding gently over his forehead and down to his cheek.

"Don't leave me, Chuck Bartowski," she whispers raggedly. "Don't you dare leave me."

She pauses a moment, as if waiting futilely for a response, before brushing a curl back from his temple. The door opens behind her, but she doesn't stir.

After a few seconds, Casey clears his throat. "Ellie and Devon are here." He waits until she looks at him before adding, "They want to talk to you."

Sarah glances back at Chuck, a silent query in her expression.

"I'll look after him," Casey responds gently.

She nods and leans over to kiss Chuck's forehead before standing. On her way out, Casey puts a hand on her arm.

"It's time we told them the truth," he says. "They may be able to help." Swallowing, she nods again, hesitantly this time. Casey tilts his head to the left. "They're down the hall."

"Thanks, Casey."

She finds them in the waiting room, Devon sitting tensely in a chair while his wife paces a few feet away. Ellie stops when she spots Sarah.

"How is he? How's Chuck? Why can't we see him?"

Sarah holds up her hands to stop the onslaught of words before they morph into accusations.

"Babe," Devon says, standing and holding her gently by the arm. "Calm down."

Sarah shoots a grateful look at him and suggests, "Maybe we should go somewhere more private."

"No," Ellie says, her face alight with worry. "This is fine. I just want to know how my brother is. We deserve to know what's going on."

The panic in Ellie's eyes is enough to send a shock of fear through Sarah's heart. She gestures to a cluster of chairs in the corner, selects a seat next to Devon instead of Ellie.

Taking a deep breath, she says, "To protect the two of you, I can't go into too much detail, but Chuck is an intelligence asset. Casey and I work for the government. We've been protecting him for the past two and a half years." She swallows, wishing she had a glass of water. "Chuck has . . . information in his head. It's very sensitive information which has helped us apprehend a lot of dangerous criminals. But now . . ."

She trails off again, loath to admit to the overprotective Ellie the situation the government has landed her brother in.

"Whoa, back up," Devon requests, keeping his voice quiet. "Chuck's like . . . a spy?"

"Oh, my God," Ellie breathes, her hand over her heart.

Sarah nods. "More of an analyst, but yes."

Devon grins. "That's awesome."

"No," Ellie says as she turns to him. "That is not awesome. My brother, my ridiculous, goofy little brother is living a dangerous, secret life! How is that awesome?"

He slips his hand into hers. "I just meant that he's not as unfocused as he seems to be, that's all."

Sarah purses her lips. "I know this is a lot to take in, and I expect that it will take a while to sink in. But the truth is that we're not quite sure what's going on with him yet. A CIA doctor will be here in the morning. We'll know more then."

Calmer, Ellie asks, "Does it have to do with what's in his head?"

"Most likely, yes." She offers a weak smile. "He has a very unique ability to retain information. This is the first time he's responded poorly to what we call flashes. Sometimes, if he has too many in too short a time span, he'll get headaches, but never as bad as this, and never lasting as long."

"Can we take a look at his charts?" Devon queries, genuine concern for his brother-in-law visible in his eyes.

"Of course," she nods. "We'd appreciate any help you can offer."

"Anything for Chuck."

For Chuck. Not for her.

Even though he says it unthinkingly, she feels it like an arrow through her heart. She rubs her eyes, her bones suddenly aching. The desire to do her job drains right out of her. What she wants most is to be with Chuck, but sitting by his bedside won't help him at all. She just has no willpower to do anything else.

"Wait," Ellie begins.

Sarah sighs inaudibly. She had thought the dreaded conversation was over with.

Ellie looks at her in confusion. "If you and Chuck have been working together all this time, then . . . how much of it was real?"

Sarah glances at the ground. She doesn't need Ellie to define 'it.' Softly, her face burning with shame, she answers, "To explain how much time we were spending together, to explain his absences when he was needed for missions, the government came up with a believable cover story."

"A cover?" Ellie's disappointment is palpable.

"So you two never dated?" Awesome asks for clarification.

Sarah straightens, needing the comfort that accompanies rigid posture and a job to complete. "No. Now, if you'll excuse me . . ." She starts to rise from her chair.

"I'd really like to slap you right now," Ellie seethes.

The abruptness of her change in attitude startles Sarah. She sits back down and stays silent, despite the overwhelming urge to let Ellie follow through on her words. But Chuck would be devastated if he found out his family was falling apart, and she doesn't need to be the one provoking his sister.

"Come on, El," Devon says delicately, wrapping her in a hug. "Can't you see how exhausted, how worried she is?"

Far from calming her down, his words merely serve to inflame her anger. Ellie rounds on Sarah, her eyes blazing and her voice lethally soft. "What right – what _right_ – do you have to pretend to care about him? You've spent the last two and a half years lying to us all! Well, you can stop pretending now. We don't need you anymore."

"Ellie," Devon rebukes gently, a hand on her face. "Sarah's job is to protect him. Do you really think she asked for this?"

As Ellie shakes her head, Sarah can see the glint of tears in her eyes. "She never really cared about him, Devon. All this time, I thought he'd finally found someone who understood him, and she never really cared."

Sarah can't breathe. Ellie's words are a vice squeezing the life out of her lungs. She feels lightheaded, unable to combat the Woodcombs' words.

Still, she can't tell them the truth. How could she even hope to explain how deeply she'd compromised herself in those two and a half years? They could never understand. Devon might try, but her useless explanations would only tear her further from Ellie, a woman she's come to admire and respect and even look up to like a sister.

So she says nothing and wipes away the tears with shaking hands.

Devon frowns thoughtfully. "So you two moving in together, that was all fake?"

She sniffles and clears her throat, grateful for the distraction. "You guys were getting married, Chuck wanted his space, and this was the best option. It was the only way we could protect him and give him some semblance of normalcy."

"Protect him?"

"Yes."

"You mean watch him twenty-four hours a day like he's some sort of child, or monster," Ellie cuts in. Her voice has lost some of its edge but none of its despondency.

"No, Ellie," she replies softly, hoping the older woman is receptive enough to see the broken heart behind her eyes, "like he's the country's most important intelligence asset." But there's no empathy in Ellie's gaze. Sighing, she adds, "Chuck has a round-the-clock security detail, but you two can see him whenever you want. You just have to check in with . . . Casey. Check in with Casey."

She'd been about to say herself as well, but there's no need to add to the drama. She's tired, and her exhaustion comes through in her voice.

Devon seems to understand that she has nothing more to say, so he stands and pushes Ellie gently toward the doorway. Before he leaves, though, he stoops down to kiss Sarah's forehead and give her a squeeze on the shoulder. He doesn't say a word, which is good, because she think she'd break if he did, but the kindness in the action is more than enough to overwhelm her.

She doesn't look up as the two doctors leave, can't face the people who feel so much like family.

In all her years as an agent, it's never hurt so much to pretend.

**Don't leave, don't leave me here  
I can't breathe without you  
Don't leave, don't leave me here  
I don't want to be without you  
I don't want to live without you  
I don't want to breathe without you (You're my oxygen)**

She's sitting in the corner still, watching Devon snooze comfortably and Ellie pace agitatedly, when Casey comes to get her. It's the middle of the night, and she hasn't eaten in over twelve hours, hasn't had a wink of sleep in nearly eighteen. She's been sitting in this chair, staring at the wall, her heart doing back flips inside of her chest.

"He's awake," Casey announces calmly, and, after a day of feeling like the world is crashing in, the news makes her feel suddenly alert.

Ellie shakes her husband awake. "Devon! Devon, wake up. Chuck's awake!"

Clearing his throat, Casey shifts from one foot to the other and tilts his head awkwardly toward her. "He's asking for Sarah."

Anger flashes in Ellie's eyes, but it's quickly replaced by acceptance. "Right, of course," she says softly, pulling her sweater tighter. She sits down next to Devon, who pulls her into a loose hug.

Swallowing nervously, Sarah rises and wipes her moist palms on the thighs of her jeans. She follows Casey, but before she steps into the hallway, she hears, "Sarah?" Glancing back, she sees Ellie looking up at her, a worried expression on her face.

"Tell us how he is?"

Sarah nods. "Of course."

Casey stops just outside of his room and indicates that he'll wait with the two sentries. She lingers at the door, peering inside cautiously. Chuck's awake and mostly alert, though, and as soon as she pokes her head in, his face lights up with a smile.

"Hey," he greets softly, lifting his hand toward her.

She comes into the room, shutting the door behind her, and walks over to sit on the side of the bed. "Hey, yourself." Taking his hand, she gives it a gentle squeeze. "How are you feeling?"

He groans. "Terrible."

"I'm sorry," she replies as she strokes his hair. He seems to find the gesture comforting, so she doesn't stop.

"You look tired yourself," he accuses lazily.

She looks up with a slight smile. Only he would ask after someone else while lying in a hospital bed. "That's sweet, Chuck, but you don't have to worry about me."

His mouth twitches, and there's a hint of sadness in his tone when he asks, "If I don't, who will?"

A lump sprouts in her throat, but his eyes drift shut before it becomes necessary to address the issue. She subdues another unruly curl and asks, "Are you tired?"

"I slept all evening," he protests. Gesturing to his IV, he adds, "I'm just drowsy from all these drugs."

Sarah chuckles and entwines her fingers with his. When she looks back up, he's staring at her with an unnerving intensity. Seeming to sense her discomfort, though, he gives her hand a squeeze.

"I was just thinking," he says lightly after a moment. "Does the CIA have a plan for zombie attacks? Because I feel like they plan for everything except that. I think that should maybe be remedied."

He has a silly smile on his face, his speech is slightly slurred, and the morphine starts to show again in the glassiness of his eyes. But just the same, she can't fight the urge to lean over and kiss him. His lips are soft, but she draws away much too quickly, afraid they'll get in over their heads.

Chuck cocks a sideways grin. "What was that for?"

"For coming back to me."

"Mmm . . . I'll have to get the Intersect to malfunction more often, then."

"You do that, Chuck Bartowski," she threatens, "and I will personally end you."

"Seems kind of self-defeating then." His eyes drift shut, and she sits stroking his hair, thinking he's fallen asleep again when, a few minutes later, he mumbles, "Sarah?"

"Hmm?"

"Do you realize how few blue foods there are on this planet?"

After a brief astonished silence, she chuckles. "No, Chuck, I did not."

"It's true," he continues, his words slow and tired. "Even the blue foods aren't properly blue. Blueberries are purple. I want something blue to eat."

She laces her fingers into his curls once more. "Want me to get you a blue slurpie?"

Opening his eyes and leaning up a bit, he replies, "Maybe later. Don't leave right now."

"No," she tells him softly, "I won't leave your side."

And suddenly things seem much simpler. He smiles, giving her hand a tug, and she falls onto the bed beside him. He pulls her close so she can lean into him. For the first time in almost a day, she closes her eyes, finally comfortable enough to go to sleep.

Wrapped up in the feel of him, lost in his familiar scent, she's drifting asleep when she's roused by Chuck's voice.

"Sarah?"

"Yeah?"

The silence unnerves her enough that she turns to gaze at him.

He hesitates, his brow drawn in fear. "Am I going to be okay?" he asks in little more than a whisper.

She takes his face in her palm, an effort to comfort herself as well as him, and offers a strained smile. "A CIA doctor will be here in a few hours to look at you. Until then, we're not really sure what's going on."

He starts to drift away, but she turns his face so his eyes meet hers.

"Hey," she says forcefully, "nothing's going to happen to you. I'll make sure of that."

**It's hard to get rejected  
By the one you most expected to be by your side  
Your first thought being you should run and hide  
I don't think you're to blame  
I'll get you on your toes  
I'll dream of you while I'm asleep at night  
So nobody will know  
So don't leave me**

Though Sarah has hated many things in her lifetime, she's always been disciplined enough to not let her dislikes get in the way of her duty. But right now, sitting in this God-forsaken waiting room like she has been since the CIA kicked her out of Chuck's room this morning, she can honestly admit that she hates hospitals.

She and Casey have been relegated to mere bystanders, not allowed to do more than wait and worry. Chuck's with the CIA doctor, Dr. Beckett, right now, has been since nine in the morning, and no one's been allowed to see him, not his sister and brother-in-law, not his best friend, not his handlers who have come to see him and value him as more than just an asset.

She kicks idly at the legs of the adjacent chair as she listens to the hospital's muzak version of "Cruisin'" for the fourth time today and waits.

"Watch it, Walker," Casey advises as he walks in with a coffee in each hand. "I don't want to have to explain a broken chair to . . . well, anyone." Shrugging, he sits down in said chair and hands her a coffee.

"Thanks," she says, taking a sip of the hot liquid.

"How are you holding up?"

She frowns. "I'm going stir-crazy in here."

They sit in silence for a beat before Casey suggests, "Why don't you go home for a bit? Take a shower and get some sleep. I'll give you a call if we get any news."

Sarah glances over at Ellie and Devon, sitting in the opposite corner of the waiting room, their concern for Chuck telegraphed through their body language. She thinks of Chuck, being poked and prodded and tested by strange people. She wants to be in there with him, holding his hand and stroking his brow, not out here sitting uselessly.

She shakes her head. "No. I want to stay."

"You're a wreck, Walker," Casey frowns. "No offense."

"If he gets out, and I'm not here . . ." She trails off, trusting that Casey can fill in the blanks.

He grunts softly, obviously feeling the same way, and she returns to sipping her coffee and surreptitiously eyeing the Woodcombs, so striking in their grief. She's pulled out of her depression by the entrance of Dr. Beckett. He looks to be in his mid-fifties, his hair going gray at the temples and his forehead permanently wrinkled.

Sarah launches out of her seat.

"How is he? How's Chuck?"

Casey steps up by her side, and they're quickly joined by Ellie and Devon.

"Is there any news?" Devon asks.

"How's my brother?" interjects Ellie. "What's wrong with him?"

Beckett, looking slightly overwhelmed, takes a small step backward. "If you'll all just calm down, I can explain what we know so far."

Sarah's heart drops. After nearly a dozen years with the agency, she's learned to pick up on tiny tells, like phrasing. And Beckett's word choice does nothing to comfort her.

The doctor leads them into an empty room for privacy. Sarah hides in the back of the group, her arms crossed against her chest as she leans against the wall and tries to fight the sinking feeling inside.

"Mr. Bartowski is a very unique individual," Dr. Beckett begins, glancing down at Chuck's chart. "We haven't dealt with a scenario like this before. We believe the Intersect has somehow contracted a computer virus and that that malfunction is affecting Mr. Bartowski's brain and body."

"Is he going to be okay?" Ellie asks, flushed with anxiety. Devon slides an arm around her shoulders.

Beckett purses his lips. "He's doing fine as of right now."

"Oh, thank God," Ellie breathes.

"We tried a number of methods to correct the malfunction, and he's stabilized. He may be fatigued for a while, but we expect a full recovery within a few weeks." Beckett's gaze travels to Casey and Sarah. "Unfortunately, we don't think we were successful in retaining the encrypted information."

Sarah stands up straighter, feeling as if the floor is dropping out from under her. "What does that mean?"

Casey looks at her, a blaze of meaning in his eyes. Subdued, he says, "It means our assignment's over."

Lightheaded, she quickly takes a seat in a nearby chair. Devon and Ellie shoot her concerned, doctoral glances, but she ignores them, thinking only of the import of Casey's words.

An end to the assignment means a life without Chuck.

"He's awake if you want to see him," Dr. Beckett says, but Sarah hears his voice only distantly.

Her head sinks into her hands, and she's dimly aware of movement as everyone exits the room, leaving her alone with her thoughts. She hadn't anticipated this day, hadn't made plans. She's just been skating along in denial, praying this day would never come.

It's her move, and the rules of the game just changed on her.

Sarah's startled out of her thoughts when a hand comes to rest on her shoulder. She looks up to see Ellie's brown eyes, the Bartowski eyes, so full of concern.

"Are you all right?" the brunette asks quietly.

"Yeah," she stammers. "I just . . . never anticipated this, that's all."

"I thought spies never stayed in the same place for very long," Ellie says gently. "You've been here for two and a half years now. Surely you had to've known that it wasn't going to last forever."

"We were doing so well, as a team, I mean. I didn't want to think about what would happen when it ended." Sarah sighs. "Even if you hate me and everything I stand for, you can at least understand that."

Ellie frowns and clasps her hand. "No, Sarah, I don't hate you. What you told me yesterday was a lot to take in. I wasn't ready to dismiss what I had known as reality for the past two years and more as untrue."

Sarah regards her sadly. "I'm sorry, Ellie. I'm so, so sorry."

Ellie slides a hand to her back, rubbing it comfortingly. "You've been looking after Chuck all this time. I should be thanking you." She hesitates before adding uncertainly, "I saw you in there with him. You looked so peaceful sleeping beside him, and you've been sick with worry." Sarah lifts her eyes, finding a challenge in Ellie's gaze. "You can't fake that kind of emotion, Sarah," Ellie continues. "I need to know how you really feel about my brother."

Sarah tightens her mouth, prepared to lie, so used to it being the first option. But it's Ellie, who's become an older sister to her, and whom she can't look at without seeing Chuck, without seeing the possibility of a family.

Taking a deep breath, she says simply, "I love him." She shakes her head. "But the truth is I'm not allowed to."

Ellie's confused expression betrays her. "Not allowed?"

"I have a duty," she continues sadly, feeling the weakness of the excuses with each syllable. "Feelings . . . get in the way. The government doesn't approve of handler-asset relationships. If I acted on my feelings, I'd be taken away, shipped off to an assignment halfway across the globe. I couldn't do that to him, to either of us."

"Oh, Sarah . . ."

Sarah accepts her embrace, taking comfort in just being hugged. She's been taking care of herself for so long that she can't remember the last time she's let someone support her, can't remember what it's like to have a friend.

**Don't leave, don't leave me here  
I can't breathe without you  
Don't leave, don't leave me here  
I don't want to be without you  
I don't want to live without you  
I don't want to breathe without you (You're my oxygen)**

Sarah fidgets agitatedly with her necklace as she paces the short length of the hallway outside of Chuck's room. He's inside with Ellie, catching up after a full day of extensive testing. Seven hours into the second day and a full report from Dr. Beckett, General Beckman had declared the first human Intersect project officially over. Sarah's too afraid to tell him, and he's barely seen Ellie since this began, so she's biding her time until she can string the words together in a coherent manner.

As she reaches the end of the hallway and turns around, she sees Casey at the other end.

"Ellie still in there?" he questions, walking her way. She nods. "You haven't told him?"

She hesitates, arriving in front of the window to his room. "No," she admits. "I don't know how to say it."

Casey's expression tightens, and she can tell he understands. "So," he begins, "what are you going to do?"

Crossing her arms, she stares at Chuck and Ellie and doesn't answer right away. Softly, she says, "We've barely known anything else for almost three years. This was the best team I've ever had the privilege to be a part of." She sighs, using the exhalation to steady herself. "I've always known that it wouldn't last, that I'd be asked to walk away from him. And I knew it wouldn't be easy, or fair. But now that it's here, it's even more difficult to accept than I'd anticipated."

He lets out a low grunt. "You're really going to try to leave?"

She regards him curiously. "What do you mean?"

"I'd like to see you last five minutes without him." He turns to challenge her directly. "Go on. I dare you to walk out of those doors and see how long you last."

She swallows. "You think I should stay with him?"

Casey frowns thoughtfully. "I think you need to make that decision yourself. But just an observation: both of you are better together than you ever could be alone."

Turning her gaze back to Chuck, she suddenly feels the enormity of the decision. The room grows hotter, her face grows flushed. "I think I'm going to get some air," she says quickly before walking off and heading towards the elevator.

Once outside, she stops to breathe in a lungful of fresh air, her face turned upwards toward the sky, toward the sun. The afternoon warmth is comforting, but she feels the loss of Chuck's proximity acutely. Exhaling deeply, she turns left out of the hospital and heads down the sidewalk, her sneakers slapping against the concrete.

Chilled more by her thoughts than by the weather, she tightens her jacket around her torso as she walks, and her spirits sink with each step. She had meant what she said to Casey, that she'd walk away from him. It doesn't mean it won't tear her heart out to do it, but over the past two and a half years, she'd come to accept the fact that her life isn't fair, that she doesn't get to live the life she wants with the man she loves.

Besides, doesn't he deserve better than her? She wants more for him, wants him to live his life the way he wants to live it. After all, he's entitled to a normal one after he's waited so long. She watches the pedestrians pass her by, listens to the traffic on the road, and all the while ignores the ache in her heart. She's gotten through so much in her lifetime – a childhood full of cons, a broken relationship with Bryce, the loneliness that accompanies being an agent – but somehow the prospect of leaving Chuck seems to trump them all.

Still, when she imagines her assignments post-Chuck, she knows she'll never be as good an agent as she is now, as she is _with_ him. No matter how many tribulations she's braved in her thirty years, she knows, in the dim recesses of her mind, that erasing Chuck from her memory will be the one to break her, will be something she'll never recover from.

She'll be a burn-out within a year.

Even so, she can handle a tanking career. She can handle being relegated to a desk job because no one thinks her stable enough to work in the field. She can handle living alone, and sleeping alone, and dying alone, if only it means that Chuck gets the future he deserves.

Because if she stays, she'll be in his way, the emotionally-stunted girlfriend who takes more than she can give. Can she handle holding him back like that?

As she rounds a corner, she turns her eyes up and sees a convenience store across the street. Remembering that ridiculous conversation and her promise from two days ago, she jaunts across the road and into the store, in search of a blue slurpie, and purchases a Rockin' Blue Raspberry slurpie in the largest size.

Ten minutes later, she's back in the hospital elevator, grateful for the mission, simple though it is. Having something to do, even if it's delivering a slurpie, keeps her mind from dwelling on tomorrow.

Sarah sighs as she exits the elevator and walks down the hall toward his room. She stops short when she sees Morgan and Devon inside, but the latter sees her and waves her in.

"Hey," she greets from the doorway. "Special delivery for Charles Bartowski."

Chuck, sitting up against the pillows, smiles. "Come in."

Morgan and Devon acknowledge her before discreetly slipping out of the room. She sits on the edge of the bed and hands the cup to Chuck.

"It's blue. Just like you asked," she teases softly.

"Excellent. Thank you," he drawls, and she can pick up on the fatigue still present in his voice.

He sips the slurpie lazily, smiling at her.

"How are you feeling?" she asks, brushing back his hair.

He swallows a mouthful of blue slurpie. "Better. My headache's gone."

"I'm glad." She smiles softly.

Chuck looks up at her and asks, "So how much longer do I have to stay here?"

"I think Beckett's giving your chart one last look-over, so you should be discharged and on your way home within a few hours."

"Home," he chuckles, "wherever that is anymore."

"Hey," she says forcefully. She uses the hand still cradling his head to make him look at her. "Home is wherever you and I are together."

The words tumble out of her mouth, surprising even her, but as soon as they're out in the open, she knows that they're true, and that she needs him more than she can ever say. She needs him selfishly, needs him like a parasite needs its host.

But her fingers curl in his hair, and for the first time the only thing between them is truth, and she can't go back.

He sits up to lean closer, the expression on his face dangerously close to disbelief. "Are you saying . . ." he begins before licking his lips and collecting himself. "We can finally be together?"

Sarah nods, a hesitant smile spreading across her face. "Yeah," she answers breathlessly as her hands clench in his hair. "We can." Her brow wrinkled, she adds desperately, "If you want it. Only if you want it."

One hand at her neck and the other arm wrapped around her waist, Chuck pulls her close enough so their foreheads touch. The slurpie lies forgotten on the bed, nearly spilling and staining the sheets a garish shade of neon blue.

"Of course it is," he breathes. "You're all I've wanted, ever since I met you."

**Oxygen  
**

"No, no, no," Sarah says, motioning for Chuck to lie back down when he tries to get up from the bed. "Let me get it for you."

She's almost out the door and on her way to the kitchen when he says, "I'm not an invalid, you know."

"Then why have you been so tired?" she smirks. "Explain that, genius."

He chuckles, a smile growing on his face. "You've been keeping me up all night, that's why."

Sarah shakes her head with a smile, unable to argue with that. Maybe he's right, and she's being overprotective. But she can't help it. She's naturally protective of the ones she loves. He grins charmingly at her, reaching out a hand, and she falls onto the bed beside him. In one swift motion, she sidles up against him, her hand against his chest, and captures his lips sweetly.

Acting anything but the invalid, Chuck responds by wrapping his arms around her waist and flipping her onto her back. As she fists her fingers into his hair, he slides one hand up her t-shirt and against her stomach.

"Hey, now," she says softly as she pulls away, a smile lighting up her face. "I'm supposed to be grocery shopping."

"That can wait," he grins.

She frowns. "But dinner can't. I need to do this well, to impress Ellie. I'm not exactly on great footing with her right now."

"Why can't we just have pizza? I'm sure she'd be okay with that," he says, running his hand through her hair.

She laughs, patting his chest. "We have pizza all the time!"

"That's because it's the food of the gods," he exaggerates.

"Fine, if you love it so much, we'll have some for lunch. But I still need to go shopping." She edges out from beneath him and sits up. "Wait 'til I'm gone half-an-hour, then order and I'll pick it up on my way home. Okay?"

Chuck nods, but his eyes are distant, thoughtful. He holds onto her hand as she rises, giving it a tug when she gets too far away. She turns.

"Hey," he says quietly, looking directly at her. "Is everything okay?"

She purses her lips. "What do you mean?"

"I mean it's been three days and you haven't said a word about what's really going on," Chuck shrugs.

She sighs, looks away. "Chuck . . ."

He pulls her down onto the bed again, sitting up slightly to slide his arms around her waist. "Just tell me, Sarah. I can handle it." When she hesitates, his eyes rise to meet hers. Quietly, he asks, "The government has no more use for me, does it?"

The answer's in her eyes, and he buries his face in her chest before she can respond verbally.

"Listen to me, Chuck," she urges, running her hands through his hair. He looks up, an expression of sad resignation gracing his features. "We're going to be okay," she continues. "You can do anything you want to now. You can have the life you've always wanted to have."

He smiles uncertainly, asking, "And what about you?"

Her fingers still tangled in his hair, she kisses his forehead gingerly. "What about me?"

He takes a deep breath. "I mean, how does this work? How do we make it work? Are you going to be away a lot? Am I going to spend my nights worrying about you?" She opens her mouth to speak, but he shakes his head. "And before you say anything, I know this is going to be hard. I know that, but after all we've been through, I need you in my life. Look, I know it's going to be complicated, but –"

"Chuck." She cuts him off, her tone brooking no room for argument.

Chuck sits up, waiting patiently for her explanation. Her fingers still in his hair, she massages his head.

"I told you I wanted to be with you, and I meant it," she says, drawing him closer until their foreheads are almost touching. Emphatically, she says, "I'm with you, Chuck. I'm one hundred percent committed to this."

"Sarah," he whispers, swallowing, "you don't have to convince me of that." He hesitates, and a grimace forms on his lips. "But there's something you're not telling me, isn't there?"

Sarah doesn't answer right away, pretending to focus on fixing one of his fly-away curls. "I quit," she admits quickly.

She looks him in the eye, finding disbelief and detachment there. He's already withdrawing, untangling his limbs from her waist and pushing himself away from her. He's looking out the window, but his eyes have that distant look like he's not really seeing anything. He runs a shaky hand through his hair and asks simply, "When?"

She frowns. "The night you came home, while you were sleeping."

Shaking his head, Chuck climbs off the bed and stands with his hands on his hips. "I can't believe you didn't even talk to me first. When were you planning on telling me?"

"Chuck, it's no big deal."

"No big deal? You just gave up your life for me. How is that not a big deal?" He's upset now, the words tumbling from his mouth in quick succession.

She rises to face him, dismayed by the width of the bed separating them. "Chuck . . ." she falters, "I thought you'd be happy."

With a sigh, he walks around the bed and takes her hands in his. "Sarah, I get that you're just trying to make up for the past few years. I get that, and I love you for it." He pauses, taking a deep breath and locking gazes with her. "But we're a team now, and a decision like that, one that's going to affect the rest of your life, don't I get a say in that, too?"

"I'm sorry, Chuck," she replies quietly, reaching up to stroke his cheek with her thumb. "But this way we can start a new life together. Why would you want me to have a job that constantly takes me away from you and puts me in danger?"

He smiles softly as his arms envelop her. "Because you love it." Before she can object, he cuts her off. "And don't even try to deny it. I've seen you these past two and a half years. I've seen how, through all the craziness of our relationship, being an agent was the one thing that kept you grounded. I can't let you give that up."

"All I need now is you," she whispers. "Can't you see that?"

Chuck's brow wrinkles as his lips turn in a frown. "I can't just sit back and watch you sacrifice your entire career for me. There has to be some kind of compromise."

Sarah smiles despite the fact that this is their first real disagreement as a real couple. She loves that he cares about her so much, enough to put aside his own happiness for hers. But if they continue this dance, both trying to outdo the other in their sacrifices, they'll just end up at a stalemate.

She stands on her tiptoes to place a kiss on the corner of his mouth. "Let's just give this a try for a few weeks. Let me look for a job, and if I don't have any luck, then I'll see about getting back into the agency. Okay?"

Chuck sighs deeply, a smile growing on his face. "All right, we'll give it a try."

She kisses him softly on the lips before saying, "Good. But I really need to get to the grocery store now."

"I'll come with you then," he suggests as she pulls out of the embrace.

"Are you sure you're up for it? I don't want to tire you out."

"Sarah, it's the grocery store," he pleads. "Besides, between the hospital and the house arrest you've placed me under – not that I don't adore being with you all hours of the day – I haven't seen the sun in almost a week."

"All right, mister. But the first sign of fatigue, and I'm taking you straight back home."

She grins, settling her hands on his waist and pulling him down for another kiss.

**With me, is where you belong  
Right with me, is where you belong  
Right here (Right here)  
Right here (Don't leave me)**

She has a sister.

In the aftermath of Chuck's hospital scare, Sarah's starting to realize that. After two and a half years of family dinners and fake double dates, it's taken a mere two and a half weeks of movie nights and girls-only lunches to convince Sarah of that. Of all the things she's thankful for in this world, having Ellie Woodcomb as a sister figure beats most every one of them, beats every blessing except Chuck.

So sitting here, across from Ellie, just eating lunch, Sarah knows how lucky she is. For everything.

She and Ellie don't get to talk much without the men, so today's lunch is a special treat for both of them.

"We talk about Chuck all the time," Ellie says, "but you never told me how you've been adjusting to life without the government."

"I'm . . . doing well," Sarah smiles. "I like having more time with Chuck, but I haven't had much luck finding a job yet."

Ellie lowers her voice. "What about . . . _you know_ – would they help you out in finding a new position?"

"Maybe," Sarah shrugs noncommittally. "But I'd rather use it as a last resort."

"There's an ER position available at the hospital if you want to work there," Ellie suggests with a laugh.

"Thanks," Sarah replies, a smile on her face, "but somehow I find it hard to believe they'll accept the CIA as a good enough medical school."

"Well, if I can be any help, just let me know."

"I appreciate that. Chuck and I agreed to give it another week or so before we make a decision."

Ellie nods, and they lapse into the easy conversation they've become accustomed to. Sarah's happiness is still evident two hours later, when she returns home to find Chuck in the bedroom, lying on his back on the bed and staring at the ceiling.

She flops down beside him. "What's the matter?"

Chuck turns his head to look at her, and the disquiet in his eyes takes her aback. "Beckman called while you were out."

Sarah sits up and asks shakily, "What?"

Propping himself by his elbows, he nods. "Yeah, she's going to call again later tonight, to make sure you're here."

"Did she say what she wanted?"

He tries hard to keep a smile off of his face. "She wants us back."

"'Us'?" she asks.

"Yeah." He pushes himself up and holds her, one hand on her waist and the other on the back of her neck. "The both of us."

A thousand possibilities swim through her mind, most of them involving the word "Intersect." "In what capacity? She's not thinking of making you the Intersect again, is she?"

Sensing her anxiety, he shakes his head quickly. "No, just a regular analyst. But she does want me as part of the new Intersect initiative." He offers a small smile. "It'd be based in L.A. We can stay here."

Sarah takes a deep breath. Over the past eighteen days, she had convinced herself that giving up the agency was the best thing. It's hard for her to wrap her mind around the fact that _Chuck_ is the one trying to drag her back into that world. "I'd be a field agent?"

"Basically. Beckman has the details, so you'll have to go over it with her, but you could work with the Intersect project if you wanted to, which means that you'd go on field assignments but you'd also do behind-the-scenes intelligence work." He pauses so she can take in the proposal. "What do you think?"

She tangles her fingers in his hair, a self-comforting gesture. Swallowing, she asks, "What do you want to do?"

Cautiously, he answers, "It's a great opportunity."

"But what do you _want_ to _do_?"

He breaks into that lopsided grin that she's comes to love so much. "I want to take it."

Though she had suspected he was going to say that, the thought of turning around her life for the second time in the space of a month floors her. "You realize that we'll just be going back to what we had before? That you'd be lying to your family about where you work and what you do?"

Chuck nods. "But this time I'll have you."

She kisses him, desperately, and her lungs are straining for air before she gets her fill of him.

"Sarah," he chuckles breathlessly, "I know you've spent almost three years trying to protect me from this world, but the truth is . . . I think I belong in it. I'm never going to be a superspy like you, but maybe I was still meant to do this. Maybe it was no accident that the Intersect was sent to me."

Stroking his cheek, she asks, "You really want to do this?"

Still smiling, Chuck nods. "Yeah, I do," he says softly. "But only if you're with me."

**Don't leave, don't leave me here  
I can't breathe without you  
Don't leave, don't leave me  
Cause I can't live without you  
(So don't leave) Don't leave, don't leave me here  
I can't breathe without you  
Don't leave, don't leave me  
I don't want to breathe without you  
You're my oxygen  
I don't want to breathe without you  
You're my oxygen**

Sarah keeps her pace normal as she walks out of the reception and into the afternoon sun, heading toward the indiscrete black van parked in the back of the lot.

"I'm on my way," she says in an undertone, just loud enough for her mike to pick up her words.

"Roger that," Chuck replies, his voice crackling through her earpiece. "You got it?"

She smiles. "I've got it."

And a minute later, she slips into the passenger's side of the van, holding up a small USB drive for Chuck to see.

He grins and leans over to kiss her on the cheek. "Awesome." Shifting the car into gear, he adds, "Now let's get out of here."

Sarah relaxes into the seat, grateful for a relatively easy mission, and they're back at regional headquarters before she knows it. Once inside, Chuck gives her a quick kiss on the cheek before snagging two other analysts and heading into the conference room with the flash drive. Rolling her eyes, she heads to her office to write up the mission report. She keeps herself occupied until five o'clock. Emerging from her office, she finds Chuck, Noah, and Gwen still working to decode the drive.

She sends him a smile and a wave before departing, expecting him back at home in an hour or two. But when five hours go by and the kids are in bed and he's still not there, she knows he needs an intervention.

Sarah finds him still in the conference room, now dim and empty. The white board is covered in different colored scribbles; the table boasts books and pages of notes in a dozen separate, messy piles. He's staring at a computer screen, his face contorted into a thoughtful frown, the light throwing a bluish tint over his face, and she can't help but smile.

"Chuck," she calls softly from the doorway.

He starts, but a smile immediately graces his features at the sight of her. "Hey, what are you doing here?"

Crossing her arms over her chest, she asks, "You are aware that it's nearly ten-thirty at night, aren't you?"

Chuck looks at his watch in dismay. "What? It can't be."

"Yeah," she nods with a chuckle, "you've been here all day. Everyone else is gone. It's time to come home." She takes a step forward and reaches out to him.

He points to the flash drive, stuck in a USB port on the computer. "I just wanted to decode this. I think I'm close."

Sarah wraps her arms around his waist and makes him look at her. "That can wait until tomorrow. Your family can't."

"Wait," he says, sounding confused, "you've been here all day?"

"No, I went home to be with our kids. You remember them? The tiny people who kind of look like us and make us laugh?"

Chuckling, Chuck hooks a strand of hair behind her ear. "I'm so sorry, Sarah. I must have lost track of time."

Pecking him on the lips, she replies, "I know, sweetie. But our children wanted to know why Daddy wasn't there to tuck them into bed and tell them a story."

He answers with another kiss. "Which one did you tell?"

"The one where our three brave heroes save the world from a nuclear missile attack by winning a video game."

He grins. "Good choice."

"And now the good choice for _you_ would be to come home and get some rest," she replies with a smile, taking his hand and pulling him toward the door. Chuck, thankfully, makes no objection, simply locks up the conference room and follows her out.

In the parking lot, Chuck stops walking and tugs on her hand. She turns.

"I really am sorry," he says, the regret evident on his face.

Sarah smiles, stepping forward and placing her hands on his chest. "Chuck, honey, I _know_." She peppers kisses on his face, starting with his eyebrows and working her way down to his cheeks and nose. "You don't have to keep apologizing."

Chuck takes her face in his hands, leaning forward until their foreheads touch. And for a moment, in a parking lot under a yellowish street light, Sarah feels like she's ten years younger and they're just starting to figure out their relationship, just starting to fight for it. Simply the thought of how far they've come is enough to put a grin on her face.

"Come on," she urges gently, "let's get you home."

**Oxygen  
Oxygen  
Oxygen**

Sarah loves Saturday mornings. She loves waking up early to the sound of her children's laughter, loves taking them to the park after making breakfast for them. Chuck is usually up just as early as she is, almost as big a fan of their Saturday morning routine as she and the kids are, but this morning he's still sleeping like a log in the bedroom.

Sarah stands at the stove, keeping one watchful eye on the pan full of bacon and another on Sean and Patrick, five and four respectively, as they color at the kitchen table. The brothers look as different as genetics allow. Sean, blue-eyed and fair-haired, takes more after Sarah, while Patrick inherited his father's curly dark locks and warm brown eyes.

Their elder sister, Ava, at seven years old, is the spitting image of her aunt Ellie. Sitting on the counter, an apron tied around her waist, she stirs pancake batter in a bowl on her lap.

"Sean, sweetie," Sarah begins, "do you want to get Dad a glass of orange juice?"

A crayon still in hand, Sean springs out of his chair, collects the juice from the fridge, and carefully pours a glassful, his tongue poking out from between his lips as he concentrates on his task.

"Don't forget, Mommy," Patrick interjects. "Daddy likes lots of chocolate chips in his pancakes!"

"I won't forget," she assures him with a chuckle.

Twenty minutes later, the four Bartowskis are creeping down the hallway in a line towards the master bedroom. Ava's in the lead, carrying a heaping plate of chocolate chip pancakes and bacon. Sean follows close behind, a glass of orange juice between his tiny hands. Patrick, his hair sticking out messily, carries the morning newspaper.

"Balls of your feet, Patrick," Sarah tells him. "Like your sister."

Young though he is, he looks to his sister for the example and follows it swiftly. Sarah can't stop the rush of pride that comes over her, pride that their children have already begun picking up the best of their talents and interests.

They're able to successfully infiltrate the bedroom without waking Chuck, still sleeping and blissfully unaware of the party making its way toward him. Before Sarah can wake her husband, though, Patrick breaks rank and, with a cry of greeting, jumps on top of his father.

"Wake up, Daddy!"

Startled, Chuck bolts upright, his expression of surprise softening when he sees his son sitting in his lap.

"Hey, buddy. Good morning," he says happily, his voice crackly with sleep. He looks up at the other three expectant faces. "What's all this?"

Sarah takes a seat on the foot of the bed. "You had a long day yesterday. We thought we'd cheer you up."

Spotting the breakfast, Chuck lets out a groan of anticipation. "Are those chocolate chip pancakes?"

Ava beams. "Yep! Mom and I made them!"

Chuck moves into the middle of the bed and pats the covers. "Well, come on up here, you two," he says to Ava and Sean. "This thing's big enough for all of us. And I hope you're gonna help me with these pancakes. I don't think I can eat them all."

Grinning, he watches his children set down their burdens and scramble onto the bed before he turns his gaze to his wife. "Thank you," he says softly.

"You're welcome." She leans over to give him a peck on the lips.

"Dad, remember you promised to go fly our kites with us?" The question comes from Ava, who asks it with the perfect expression of innocence.

"'Course I remember," Chuck laughs. "In fact, how about I call up Aunt Ellie and Uncle Awesome and see if they and your cousins will come meet us at the park today? We can have a picnic and, if it's windy enough, we'll try to fly the kites. How's that sound?"

The children agree readily and, in Patrick's case, noisily.

Watching her family, Sarah feels a surge of warmth in her chest. After ten years, it's become a familiar feeling. But up until this moment, she hasn't been able to name it.

It's the little things in life, she knows, that constitute happiness – the breakfasts in bed, and thefamily game nights, and the chaos that accompanies a five-person household. It's the looks Chuck gives her across a room. It's the way he knows how to take care of her when she's had a rough day. It's the falling asleep beside him each night, and waking up with him each morning.

Happiness, for Sarah Bartowski, is right in front of her eyes.


	29. Crazy for This Girl

Song: "Crazy for This Girl," by Evan and Jaron

Special thanks to **BillatWork** for (a) proofing this twice, and (b) giving me the idea for the notes and letting me use it. :)

* * *

The early afternoon sunlight beats down brightly on Chuck as he walks across the plaza towards the Orange Orange. The good weather brings a smile to his face, despite the fact that he's about to spend another of his lunch breaks in a highly-secretive government meeting. The truth is his heart soars every time he's near Sarah, and the chance to see her more than outweighs the reason for their meeting.

But when he enters the freezer and descends the steps into the Castle, his heart drops at the sight greeting him. Casey and Sarah are sitting at the table before the teleconference screen, just as usual, already hunched over files, but there's a brunette woman, about thirty, sitting in between them.

Sarah raises her eyes as Chuck drops from the last step onto the ground.

"Hey, guys," he says cautiously. "What's, uh, what's going on?"

The brunette offers him a bright, friendly smile, and he can't help but notice how comfortably beautiful she is. Her brown hair, almost as dark as his, is set in soft waves about her face, and her brown blouse sets off her startling green eyes perfectly.

Awed by the sight, Chuck smiles. The unknown woman gets up and walks over to him, her hand held out.

"Hi, I'm Allison, but I prefer Ally."

Chuck shakes her hand and recovers his senses enough to answer, "Chuck. Nice to meet you." Glancing at Casey for some guidance, he asks nervously, "To what do I owe this pleasure?"

Before she can answer, the conference screen comes to life and General Beckman's countenance appears.

"Good afternoon, team," she nods to them. "Ah, Chuck, I see you've met Agent Valentine."

"Yeah. Yeah, I did," he nods. "But no one's really explained what's going on." He shares a glance with Sarah but is dismayed when, once again, he is unable to decipher the meaning behind her look. He turns his attentions back to Beckman with a frown.

"Chuck," Beckman says, "meet your temporary partner, Agent Allison Valentine."

Chuck does a double-take at the new girl before sputtering, "Excuse me? What happened to the team? I thought we were doing well."

"Don't get me wrong, Mr. Bartowski. The results from you, Agent Walker, and Major Casey have been spectacular. But this is a special assignment, and I believe you're the right man for the job."

With raised eyebrows, he taps himself in the chest and asks, "Me? Wait a minute. Are you saying Sarah and Casey won't be on this mission?"

"They'll be on the sidelines while you and Agent Valentine are in the field. Is there a problem, Chuck?"

Biting his bottom lip thoughtfully, he glances over at Sarah and Casey. Casey raises an eyebrow at him; Sarah doesn't even look at him. He looks to his left, and Agent Valentine gives him an encouraging smile.

"No," he replies, turning back to the monitor. "No problem at all."

"Good. Agents Walker, Casey, and Valentine can brief you on the mission. I'll talk with you again tomorrow afternoon."

The connection winks out, and Chuck stares at the screen, an expression of displeasure on his face. No longer in a cheery mood, he quips, "Well, thanks for keeping me in the loop, guys," before turning and heading up the stairs, taking them two at a time.

"Get back here, Bartowski," Casey growls. "You've got twenty-five minutes left in your lunch break, and we still have to explain the mission to you."

From the top landing, Chuck sighs and responds, "Love to, but I've got computers to fix. Besides, since when did I need to be kept informed of what's going on?"

Turning on his heel, he stalks out of the freezer and into the yogurt shop. He's out the door and into the sunlight again when a hand latches onto his wrist and turns him gently around.

Smiling, Ally lets go of his arm. "I'm sorry," she says, and he's surprised to hear how kind her voice is. "I think we got off on the wrong foot," she continues.

In spite of his bad mood, he smiles. "Yeah, I'm sorry about that. I'm not usually this cranky."

"No," she responds with a light chuckle, "no one likes to be the last to know things, especially plans involving them. Believe me, I understand." They stand in silence for a moment, awkwardly observing and getting used to each other, before Ally suggests, "Perhaps we can get some lunch and I can explain everything to you?"

He inhales deeply, contemplating. "Yeah," he answers. "Yeah, I'd like that. We'd better stay away from the Buy More, though. I don't have a cover for who you are yet."

Ally laughs. "Would you need a cover? Can't we just say I'm a friend?"

Chuck grins. "Believe me, someone as beautiful as you walks into that store with me, interest will be piqued, suspicions will be aroused, and rumors will fly."

She seems to take this in stride, asking, "Well, then, what do you suggest?"

"You like pizza?"

"Of course."

"Sbarro it is, then."

They turn from the Orange Orange and walk across the plaza, Ally keeping a respectful distance between them. Though amazed by the turn of events, especially by his luck in companionship, he can't stop his thoughts as they wander to a certain blonde. Even in her absence, she still manages to bewitch him.

**She rolls the window down  
And she talks over the sound  
Of the cars that pass us by  
And I don't know why  
But she's changed my mind**

Chuck sighs, his hands jammed into the front pockets of his jeans, and watches as Sarah pulls her Porsche up to the curb. She pops the trunk, and he tosses his suitcase in before climbing into the passenger's seat. Sarah barely spares him a glance as he shuts the door.

"Hey," he ventures cautiously.

"Hi."

She shifts gears and pulls into the street, the tires squealing with the force. He can tell by her grip on the steering wheel how uncomfortable she is with this, but they had worked everything out, and this had been the best option. While Ellie thinks they're going away for the weekend, Sarah's really just taking him to her hotel so he can meet Ally and head to the resort for the mission.

Chuck purses his lips, nods his head, stares out the window awkwardly. "Nice morning, huh?"

"What?" Sarah asks distractedly. "Oh, yeah. Of course."

He frowns and leans his head against the window. Luckily the drive isn't very long, and he resigns himself to spending the rest of it in silence. He's tempted to turn on the radio but isn't sure if that would affect the atmosphere in the car for the better.

After a full five minutes of uneasy silence, Sarah finally says, "No mention of the Intersect to Ally, okay?"

His heart sinks, and he doesn't respond right away. Of all the things she could have said, she chooses to start a conversation about the mission. Once again, she closes herself off and hides behind the job.

"Fine," he sighs, leaning back in his seat. "Got it."

Chuck rolls his eyes as Sarah passes another car aggressively, ignoring the beeping of horns as she pushes the speed up to twenty mph past the limit.

A few minutes later, she asks, "You know what you have to do?"

He purses his lips and holds back his response. "Yeah," he replies, "Ally explained it to me yesterday."

"And?"

He sighs. In a tired voice, he answers, "Ally and I will scope out the resort today, see if I flash on any of the guests. Tomorrow night, at the party, you and Casey will be running surveillance out in the van. Ally and I will go after the book."

Sarah nods, "Good," and they descend into silence once again.

They finally pull up to the parking lot of Sarah's hotel, where Ally's waiting, leaning against a silver Pontiac convertible, sunglasses perched on her face, her arms crossed against her chest.

Chuck climbs out of Sarah's car with a smile. "Good morning," he greets, tossing his bag into the backseat.

"Morning, Chuck, Sarah," Ally nods.

Sarah offers a barely-friendly smile as she follows Chuck to the curb.

"Well," Ally says, "I guess we should be going." She bids Sarah goodbye and walks around the car to get behind the wheel.

Chuck turns to leave but is stopped when Sarah grabs his hand. She swallows, having trouble meeting his eye.

"Be careful, okay?"

After her aloof behavior in the car, he's taken aback by the vulnerability in those few words. He nods. "Of course."

Sarah finally looks at him, stares him straight in the eye. It might be his imagination, but he thinks, in those bottomless ocean blues, he can almost see the words she's too afraid to say:

_Come back to me_.

**Would you look at her  
She looks at me  
She's got me thinking about her constantly  
But she don't know how I feel  
And as she carries on without a doubt  
I wonder if she's figured out  
I'm crazy for this girl**

The "Dashwoods" have been married for seven months. He's an editor, she's a novelist, and they're very much in love. Chuck feels awkward without his Carmichael cover, his fake wedding ring burning against his finger, but at the same time, using his familiar cover without Sarah would have been strange, too. So he lets Ally take his hand as they walk towards the resort's pool, her friendly smile setting him at ease.

He follows Ally over to two unoccupied chairs in the corner, sets the towels down, and takes a seat, admiring her choice of position. He can see the entire pool and all its occupants from here. Sarah and Casey aren't with them today, jabbering in his ear. Tomorrow night, during the party, they'll all be wired, and Casey and Sarah will be waiting outside the resort in a surveillance van, but for now, he and Ally are on their own.

"Aren't you going to take off your shirt, honey?" Ally chuckles from off to his right.

He looks up to see her haloed by the sunlight, already stripped down to her bikini, a slinky green number that makes him forget where he is for just a second.

"Come on," she urges playfully. "You need some sun, Mr. Pasty."

Laughing, he obliges and pulls his orange striped polo shirt over his head. Ally drags her chair closer to his and sits down across from him, her bare knees brushing against his. She squirts some suntan lotion into her open palm.

"Here," she says, motioning for him to turn around, "let me get your back."

He raises his eyebrows at her, but follows her command and swivels so she can spread the lotion over his shoulders and back. Her touch is gentle, soothing, and it calms him so much that he closes his eyes in relaxation.

"Done!" she announces brightly, and he faces her with a matching smile. She hands him the bottle. "Don't forget to get your front. We don't want you getting burned."

Chuck finishes putting the lotion on himself before helping Ally with her back and shoulders. As his hands move slowly over her shoulders, she turns her head to glance at him out of the corner of her eye.

"See anyone yet?" she whispers.

He does a quick sweep of the guests. "No," he whispers, his lips brushing against her ear, "nothing yet."

Nodding, Ally cover giggles. "Time to relax then," she says and leans back against her chair.

Chuck follows suit, and their chairs are close enough for her to drag the back of her fingers along his arm. The touch sends a tingle through him, sends his heart racing. This is normally the part where Sarah would back down, where the two of them would put enough distance between themselves to forget about the fact that they work together, but Ally is not Sarah, and this is just a mission.

"You want your book, hon?" she asks in a sweet voice.

He nods, and she hands him David McCullough's _1776_. He opens to his bookmarked page and settles back to read, glancing up every few minutes to check out new arrivals and look over the guests. Half-an-hour later, he still hasn't flashed, and he's starting to relax enough to think that this may not be such a bad mission.

Spotting a bar at the opposite end of the pool, he feels the sudden urge for a mojito. He stands and looks down at Ally, reading _The Scarlet Pimpernel_ contentedly.

"Do you want a drink, sweetie?" he asks with a smile.

Ally moves her sunglasses to her forehead to look up at him. "Hmm . . . get me whatever you're having."

"Sure. I'll be right back."

Chuck saunters around the pool and takes note of the patrons, thankful he's wearing sunglasses so he can look without being seen. He returns in a few minutes with a mojito in each hand. Ally rises to greet him, taking the drink from him and leaning in to warp her free arm around his shoulders.

"Thank you, Charles," she purrs with a charming smile.

Alarmed by her sudden proximity, he narrows his eyes, and answers in a flustered voice, "Uh, no problem, hon."

She leans in, her breath warm against his earlobe, and whispers, "Don't worry. There's a blonde over there who has her eyes on you. I'm just making sure she knows how very much in love the Dashwoods are."

Relaxing, Chuck laughs and strokes her back lightly.

Ally lifts an eyebrow mischievously and teases, "Feeling a little frisky, are we?"

He plants a kiss on her nose and whispers, "Just maintaining cover." But even so, the ease of their interactions is surprising and even slightly alarming.

Twining her fingers into his hair, she lifts her chin to gaze at him and says coquettishly, "I don't think there's anything else to be done here. Maybe we should go somewhere more private?"

He can't see her eyes behind her sunglasses, but he's fairly certain that the suggestion is innocuous. They grab the towels and pool bag, and, hands linked, he follows her up to their room. Ally pulls him along, but she drops the act once they're inside the hotel room.

She tosses her towel onto the bed and collapses with a smile. "That'll teach her to look at _my_ husband lasciviously," she warns playfully to no one in particular.

Chuck watches her, mesmerized, and he can't help wondering what it'd be like to have her as a full-time partner. If anything, it'd be unpredictable.

**She was the one to hold me  
The night  
The sky fell down  
And what was I thinking when  
The world didn't end  
Why didn't I know what I know now**

Ally descends into a fit of hysterical laughter, rolling onto her back on the bed, as Chuck's dancing devolves into the Robot. She snorts when he starts walking like an Egyptian, and he almost can't continue because he's laughing so hard himself. She had simply tried to teach him some formal dances that they would most likely encounter tomorrow night, but after an hour's session of the waltz and the cha-cha and the tango (he learned the guy's part this time), their dancing had become noticeably less sophisticated.

The laughing fit is interrupted by the ringing of Chuck's cell phone. Ally manages to toss it to him through her giggles.

"Hello?" he answers breathlessly, still chuckling.

"Chuck. What's going on?" Sarah sounds more confused than anything else.

"Nothing, nothing," he dismisses quickly. "Ally's just teaching me how to dance. For the mission tomorrow," he adds quickly, not wanting her to get the wrong impression.

Sarah lets a small noise escape her throat before saying, "And are you improving?"

"Yeah, yeah, I think so." He glances at Ally and moves the phone away from his mouth. "She wants to know if my dancing's improving."

Ally lets out a peal of laughter. "Yeah, let's just say we'll do as little dancing as possible."

"Oh, ho, I just got burned," he laughs into the phone, flopping down onto the bed.

"Yeah, I heard," Sarah returns, sounding not at all amused. After a pause, she says, "Well, I just wanted to check up on you."

Chuck swallows. "Thanks, Sarah, but I'm fine. Really."

"Okay then." Another pause. "If you need anything, let me know."

"Sure thing."

It's funny. Even the silences in their phone conversations speak volumes to him. Sarah seems content to not say anything, and the silence quickly becomes awkward for him.

"Good night?" he ventures.

"Good night, Chuck."

Ending the call, he sighs and looks at Ally. "That was Sarah. She wanted to make sure you weren't torturing me."

Ally chuckles and sits up. "That is _not_ what she was afraid I was doing."

Confused, Chuck frowns. "Excuse me?"

"So what's the deal with you two?" Ally asks, choosing to ignore his question.

He flips over onto his back with a sigh and rests his head on his hands. "What do you mean? Sarah and I are totally professional."

"I didn't mean to imply that you aren't. I'm just saying, she's awfully protective of you."

"It's her job to protect me." He scoffs quietly, wondering why he's even discussing this with someone he barely knows, why he feels the need to explain a relationship that he barely understands himself.

Ally scrutinizes him before cautiously asking, "How do you feel about her?" Chuck rubs his eyes and takes a deep breath. Smiling softly, she rises from the bed, grabs two beers from the mini fridge, hands one to him, and says, "Maybe this will help."

He sits up against the headboard and takes it gratefully, finding the cool beer refreshing. A few sips later, he finally admits, "It's complicated."

"Well, explain it to me," Ally suggests. "Maybe it'll be helpful to have someone to talk to."

Chuck takes another sip of beer and regards Ally sadly. "I'm technically her . . . asset." The word rolls off his tongue bitterly, bringing back some of his worst memories. "There are barriers to us being together. And honestly, I think my feelings are a lot stronger than hers ever will be. When it comes down to it, I have a feeling she'd choose the job over me."

Ally, frowning, sidles up to him and replies kindly, "You can't think like that."

"I know. But it's tough to believe we can ever be together when there are so many things pulling us apart."

"You just need to be patient, Chuck. I know I haven't been around that long, so you may not believe me, but I'm an agent. I can read people. And I see the effect you have on Sarah. I don't care if there are rules. That look in her eyes when you're around . . ." Ally shakes her head and pats Chuck's thigh. "There's something about it that tells me you're going to make it eventually."

He grimaces, still unsure. "I don't know."

"No, stop being so pessimistic," Ally tells him, smacking him lightly on the knee. "You love her, don't you?"

Nodding, Chuck says, "Yeah. Sarah's been there from the beginning, you know. The first night my world came crashing down, she was right there, helping me figure out how to deal and what to do next. She's believed in me this whole time, even though I'm awkward and nerdy, not suave like the guys she's used to dealing with." He pauses to take another sip of beer. Glancing over, he adds, "She gets me, you know? She just . . . _gets_ me."

He sighs, unsatisfied that the words are so inadequate in describing the reality. Sarah deserves so much better than he could ever give, yet she's the one woman who understands him better than anyone else ever could. After the Jill debacle of 2003, finding Sarah, even after the Intersect, finding her had been like finding a glimmer of light after being immersed in darkness for the previous four year and a half years.

"Understanding is a very important thing, Chuck," Ally agrees. "You can't let that connection go."

"How am I supposed to trust in that, though, when she barely gives me any indication of how she feels?"

Ally stares at the bedspread thoughtfully. "I realize that it must be tough for you to see it, but you're the most important thing to her. Every choice she makes comes back to you."

"You've known us for a day," he responds, shaking his head dismissively. "There's no possible way you can make that judgment already."

"I'm an agent. It's my job to be perceptive."

"Well," he smiles, toasting bottles with a _chink_, "I appreciate your optimism."

"Don't worry, Chuck," Ally says as she places her hand over his briefly. "You'll work it out someday. Soon."

Chuck purses his lips thoughtfully, mulling over the possibilities of a relationship with Sarah. He lets a few minutes pass in comfortable silence before opening up the conversation again. "Can I ask you something?"

She nods. "As long as you understand that I may not be able to answer."

"Of course."

"Then shoot."

"Why don't you have a partner? I mean, why me?" He sips his beer while waiting for her to answer.

"Well," she answers, "they told me you had unique abilities that would come in handy on this mission. You'd be able to identify Fulcrum agents without necessarily seeing their faces, which is vital, and you'd be able to ascertain whether the manuscript is real. But the bigger reason is that my last partner went rogue, joined Fulcrum, and was killed after a ten-day manhunt across three countries. My superiors don't believe I'm in the right state of mind for a new partner yet."

Chuck, stunned, lets out breath slowly. "I'm sorry about your last one."

"Don't be. I was the one who shot him."

He sits up and stares at her. "You what?"

Ally blinks, shakes herself out of her thoughts. "You're appalled, I know. But it's not as bad as it sounds. We weren't partners for very long. I never fully trusted him."

"Still," Chuck ventures, "it sucks."

"Yeah," Ally chuckles, taking a sip of her beer and leaning against the headboard. "It does."

She looks over at him, and he joins in her quiet laughter.

**Would you look at her  
She looks at me  
She's got me thinking about her constantly  
But she don't know how I feel  
And as she carries on without a doubt  
I wonder if she's figured out  
I'm crazy for this girl**

"Are you sure about this?" he asks in a whisper, following Ally down the hall.

He takes off his mask and tucks it into his tuxedo pocket. The party is a masked ball, allowing them to go incognito while the Intersect picks up on the details Fulcrum agents can't hide – scars, tattoos, even tie-tacks and pins.

She tugs on his hand as she picks up her pace. "We're almost there. Just relax."

Sure enough, Sarah confirms this through the earpiece. "Just one more turn, Chuck," she says, her voice somehow bridging the gap between no-nonsense and reassuring. "Watch out, though. There's only one guard, but he's like the Hulk. You're going to want to be care-"

And just like that, his world shrinks. All that's coming through the earpiece is static, and Ally's expression betrays that his isn't the only earpiece that's malfunctioning.

"Maybe we should abort," he suggests quickly.

Ally smiles. "Come on, Chuck. You're braver than that."

"What if Sarah and Casey are in trouble?"

She stops walking and turns to face him, her hands against his chest. "Listen, I know they're your friends and you're worried about them. But we're so close to getting what we came here for. It'll take five, ten minutes tops, to get the book. Then we'll go get Sarah and Casey, who, by the way, are trained to take care of themselves. Sound good?"

He swallows nervously and nods. "Yeah. Let's do this."

Suddenly alert, Ally freezes. She presses a finger to his lips, her eyes wide as she strains her ears to listen.

"What -?" he tries to ask.

Before Chuck can get the question out, she clamps her hand over his mouth and shakes her head. And he can hear it now, the footsteps. The guard is coming closer.

Ally, seemingly undaunted, grins and laughs quietly. She leans into him, pressing him against the wall and running her hands up his chest and to his neck and hair. With just a glance to warn him, she presses her lips to his.

Chuck is not in the least prepared for the kiss, and his senses kick into overdrive the moment her mouth meets his. Regaining his sense, he twines his arms around her slim waist in an attempt to throw himself into the kiss. But the second before he closes his eyes, he catches sight of a muscled thug coming around the corner.

The kiss is rough and intense, nothing like he expected. Ally still has her mask on from the ball, and the sequins from it graze against his face, scratching it. But her lips are soft, and her hands on his neck pull him closer. Even as he fights against it, he feels himself losing his willpower and sinking into the kiss.

"Hey," the guard shouts roughly, and Ally breaks away from him abruptly.

She giggles, her face turning red. "Oh, honey," she says nervously, patting his chest, "I'm so embarrassed!"

Chuck pulls her closer to him and places a kiss on her temple. "It's all right, sweetie." Looking the thug square in the face, he says, "I'm so sorry. We were just looking for a little privacy."

The thug, arms crossed, shakes his head. "You gotta leave. This is a restricted area."

As Ally steps to the side, Chuck holds up his hands. "Like I said, I'm sorry. We got caught up in the atmosphere, I guess." He backs up, making sure the guard's eyes are following him so Ally can get behind. Shrugging, he chuckles lightly. "You know how it is when you've got a beautiful woman for your date."

The guard opens his mouth to speak, but his answer is cut off when Ally smacks him in the back of the head with her gun. He crashes to the floor, his body collapsing into a heap with a dull _thud_.

"Come on," Ally says, reaching for his hand. "We don't have much time."

They dash around the corner and into the now-unguarded library. Chuck halts in the entranceway, awed by the sheer number of books lining the shelves. In addition to the shelves, there are pedestals throughout the room, books poised on top of them. Ally's already searching for the one they're looking for, a first edition of George Eliot's _Middlemarch_. Rushing across the room, he starts his search on the opposite side, and his eyes fall upon a small, bluish book, its pages yellowed with age.

His eyes roll into the back of his head as his head fills with red-tinged images.

"Oh! Oh, that's it. That's it," he points.

Ally, running to him, rips off her mask. "You're awesome, Chuck," she says as she grabs the book from its pedestal. "Now let's get out of here." Letting her take his hand again with her free one, he follows her as she runs back toward the main hallway.

"That's a lot smaller than I expected it to be," he says as they run.

Ally chuckles. "You're a nervous talker, aren't you?"

"Definitely," Chuck nods.

She smiles at him as they exit the library. "It's small because it's only one volume out of three. We have the second already, but we have no idea where the third is."

Before he can respond, a gunshot rings out and his world goes black.

When he wakes, he's on his back on the floor, his bowtie undone and the first two buttons of his shirt unclasped. The first thing he sees is two women – one blonde, one brunette – arguing heatedly above him.

"What were you thinking? You got him _shot_!"

"Will you calm down? He's wearing a vest. He's going to be fine."

Chuck groans, and the two women's attentions snap towards him.

"Chuck!" Sarah gasps, leaning over him, her hands running over his face. Her eyes are wide with worry, a slight tinge of anger mixed with the concern. "Oh, my God! Are you all right?"

Nodding, he coughs and struggles to sit up. She twines her arms around his back to help him up.

"Yeah, yeah. I'm fine," he tells her.

"Thank God," she breathes, threading her fingers through his hair.

There's a moment then, when time stops, and the woman in front of him becomes the only person in the world. She almost knocks the wind out of him for the second time in five minutes when she punches him on the shoulder.

"Ow!" he exclaims. "What was that for?"

"I told you to be careful!"

"That's why I wore a vest!"

"I hate to break up this poignant moment," Ally says with a wry smile, "but we have to get out of here, preferably before they send more guys. Come on. I think we can get out a back door."

Some time during the run from the library hallway to the back door, Chuck moves from the back of the line to the middle. Ally, sensing his proximity, instinctively grabs his hand and drags him along. His feet slap heavily along the corridors. Every few seconds, he feels Sarah press her palm to his lower back in an effort to push him along. They escape the mansion with relative ease, the only gunplay occurring as they burst out of the back door and make a mad dash through the gardens to the van, where Casey's waiting.

Ally, in the lead, shoves open the side door and drags him inside, leaving Sarah to hop into the passenger's seat.

"You've got the book?" Casey asks, flicking his glance up to the rear-view mirror to look back at Ally.

"Yeah, we've got it."

"Then let's roll," he grins and peals out of the drive.

The tension in the car increases as Ally tosses the book onto the floor in front of them and pulls off Chuck's already-untied bowtie.

"Come on," she says. "You need to get the vest off."

Hurriedly, he shrugs out of his tuxedo coat and resumes unbuttoning his shirt. Ally's fingers fumble as she rips the tail of his shirt out of his pants and starts with the bottom buttons. Once his shirt is open and off, she swiftly unvelcroes the vest and pushes it off his shoulders.

Chuck collapses against the seat. "Thanks," he says breathlessly, massaging his chest where the bullet impacted, not caring that he's left in just his undershirt.

From the front seat, Sarah sets her mouth firmly and lets out a barely audible huff.

Casey, smirking, says in an undertone, "Looks like the Intersect's found some more chocolate to compliment his peanut butter."

Sarah rolls her eyes and looks out the window. Chuck, hearing nothing but the words "chocolate" and "peanut butter," has no idea what transpires in the brief glance between the partners. Ally, new though she is, is still observant, and she's able to see the tension in the moment.

In a subtle move, she inches away from the man on the seat next to her. Chuck shoots a questioning glance at her, but she just smiles and looks away, her attention caught by the passing scenery.

**Right now  
Face to face  
All my fears  
Pushed aside  
And right now  
I'm ready to spend the rest of my life  
With you**

"Here you go," Ally says as she walks into the holding cell of the Castle and hands Chuck an ice pack.

He takes it gratefully, a disappointed smile gracing his face. "Thanks," he replies softly and presses the pack to the ugly bruise on his chest.

Smiling, Ally leans against the table and crosses her arms. "Everything okay?"

"Yeah," he says, but the answer sounds unconvincing, even to himself. "Why wouldn't it be?"

"I don't know. You tell me. After all, you were perfect on the mission tonight. So why are so down?"

He shrugs. "Just tired. I should get home soon."

"Well," Ally frowns and gestures to the Castle interior, "I'm stuck in this place until tomorrow. Wanna keep me company?"

Chuck hesitates before answering. "I don't think that's such a good idea." He smirks. "At least you've got Casey to keep you company."

"Gee, thanks," Ally rolls her eyes. "I mean it, though. I'm starving and last night was the first good conversation I've had in months."

This draws a smile from Chuck. "You're hungry? Again? You just finished off two cups of yogurt."

"I'm an agent. I need to keep up my strength," she argues playfully. "Now come on. I'm thinkin' pancakes."

Chuck obliges willingly, and twenty minutes later they're in a booth at a sparsely-populated IHOP.

Ally, sipping from her orange juice, fiddles with a straw wrapper and asks, "So what's up with you anyways? Are you always this depressed after missions or what?"

He frowns and plays with the edge of his napkin, keeping his eyes averted from her piercing gaze. "Sarah's been so distant the past couple days. We're usually fairly good friends, and I just don't know what I did."

"Oh, Chuck . . ."

He looks up sharply with the distinct sense that she's seeing whatever he's missing. "What? What is it?"

"Believe me, it's nothing you've done," she chuckles.

"She's barely said a word that was non-mission-related to me in the past two days."

Ally's momentarily distracted by the arrival of their pancakes – plain chocolate chip for him, chocolate chip and banana for her – but after the first bite, she says simply, "Chuck, she's jealous."

He chokes on his juice. "Excuse me?"

"Oh, come on, Chuck. You can't tell me you haven't figured it out, that she hasn't given you one iota of indication."

Pursing his lips, he contemplates that. Sarah's never open with her feelings or loose with her words, but haven't there been a few times where he thought she felt the same? The looks, the held-back words, the passion in the few kisses they'd shared . . . He can't have imagined all of those little moments that have composed their relationship.

But still, he has a hard time wrapping his mind around the fact that Sarah – badass, butt-kicking Sarah Walker – would get jealous over _him_.

"Are you sure?" Chuck asks, incredulous.

Ally's light laugh resonates in the empty corner of the restaurant. "Positive. How many times do I have to tell you? That woman is head over heels for you. It's obvious, even after two days. Hell, after two _hours_."

Taking a deep breath, Chuck buries his face in his hands.

"Well, hey," Ally says, poking him in the forearm. "I thought you'd be happier."

He looks up, running his hands down to his chin. "It's complicated."

"Yeah, I've heard that line before."

"But it's true. We can never be together."

Ally sits back in her seat, sighs, and scrutinizes Chuck until he squirms under her gaze. "One, that's not entirely true. You can be together, just maybe not right now. And two, you need to tell her how you feel before this goes any further and you get any crazier."

He shakes his head and takes a sip of juice. "She already knows how I feel. How can she not know?"

"Nope," she proclaims matter-of-factly. "That's not good enough. Looks of longing and uncertain conversations whispered in the heat of the moment aren't going to cut it. With something this important, you have to take time to think it through and let her know that this is serious, that it's not just another situation where partners end up falling for each other out of misguided sexual tension."

Chuck takes a bite of pancake, chewing while he contemplates. Swallowing, he asks, "What do you propose I do?"

"Talk to her. Go over to her apartment and make her listen –"

"Uh-uh," he cuts her off, shying away from her even physically. "I've tried that before. She never wants to talk." He emphasizes his discomfort at the prospect of talking to her with hand gestures, because Sarah's look before she left the Castle earlier that night had nearly torn him in two, and he doesn't think he can face that just yet.

"You know there's a reason for that," Ally says.

He sighs, hating that she's right and unwilling to admit it aloud.

Ally lets her frown linger for a moment, then says, "How about a letter?"

"A letter?"

"Yeah, you can write out everything you want to say and you won't have to see her reaction."

Chuck runs a hand through his hair and breathes deeply. "I don't know," he wavers. "I've never written anything that important."

"I'll help you," she shrugs.

"What am I going to write it on?" he asks, gesturing to the table. "A napkin?"

"How about a placemat?" Ally teases. "But seriously, you're deflecting." She pulls a small notebook out of her purse and tears out a sheet of paper.

"Here," she says, "write your heart."

**Would you look at her  
She looks at me  
She's got me thinking about her constantly  
But she don't know how I feel  
And as she carries on without a doubt  
I wonder if she's figured out  
I'm crazy for this girl**

Chuck paces around the courtyard nervously, wringing his hands. The note feels like it's burning a hole in his back pocket, like the ink was mixed with lead and it's weighing him down. His heart leaps wildly in his chest, and he forces himself to take deep breaths to calm down.

He swallows, pulls the envelope out of his pocket, extracts the note, and unfolds it with shaking fingers, intending to reread his words for the eighteenth time. His handwriting is neat, composed, the black ink standing in contrast with the white background of the paper. He reads the note silently, his lips moving almost imperceptibly as he mouths the words.

_I love you, Sarah Walker. I don't expect anything from you. I just need you to know. _

_Yours,_

_CB_

As satisfied as he'll be, Chuck refolds the letter, running his fingers along the crease, and replaces it in its envelope. Tucking it into his back pocket, he turns at the sound of footsteps. He freezes, letting out his breath only when he sees Ally rounding the corner.

Dressed in jeans and a black t-shirt, a smile on her face, she saunters up to the fountain.

"Hey," she greets softly.

"Hey."

"You ready?" she asks, her smile growing. He nods and jams his hands into his jean pockets, still unable to banish the anxiety from his heart. Sitting down on the edge of the fountain, Ally questions, "When's Sarah coming?"

"She should be here in about five minutes."

"Do you have the note?"

He pulls it back out of his pocket before sitting down next to her and handing it over. The plan is for Ally to sneak it into Sarah's hotel room during their cover date. With the tension between them from the past few days and his uneasiness over the note, Chuck isn't looking forward to the date.

"Well," Ally says, running her palms over her thighs, "I guess this is goodbye."

"Yeah," he responds sadly, "I guess it is."

She offers him a half-smile. "Working with you was definitely interesting, Chuck Bartowski. And I hope I have the opportunity to do so again."

"Me, too. I just hope I don't get shot next time," he chuckles.

Ally laughs. "You already got your apology for that, so stop fishing. But I promise to try to keep you out of the gunplay next time."

"That's all I ask for."

Her laughter subsiding, Ally stands. "Well, I suppose I have my parting mission. And I should probably get going before Sarah shows up."

"Did you say goodbye to her and Casey?"

"Eh, we exchanged some parting pleasantries at the Castle this morning. I think that'll last us for a while."

Impulsively, Chuck pulls her into a friendly hug. "Well, then, Allison Valentine, it was a pleasure."

"Indeed it was, Chuck," she smiles into his shoulder. Pulling away, she rubs his shoulder and continues, "Take care of yourself, okay? I don't want to come back from Zanzibar or Argentina only to find out that you've gotten yourself shot again."

"I'll try my best," he nods.

"And I'm sure Sarah won't mind watching your back either," she teases, poking him in the arm.

He takes a deep breath, letting a shy smile grace his lips. "I hope so."

"It'll be fine," she assures him. "Just relax."

"Thanks, Ally. You'll be careful out there, won't you?"

Smiling, she leans forward to give him a kiss on the cheek. "Of course. Until next time, then, Chuck." She gives his hand one final squeeze before turning and walking out of the courtyard.

"Hey," he calls after her. She turns. "You might want to check Alexandria. For the third volume. Just a hint."

Ally smiles. "Thanks."

And Chuck watches her go, his heart heavy, glad that he has one more person in the spy world whom he can count as a friend.

**Would you look at her  
She looks at me  
She's got me thinking about her constantly  
But she don't know how I feel  
And as she carries on without a doubt  
I wonder if she's figured out  
I'm crazy for this girl**

Chuck climbs into bed, thankful to finally get to sleep after a full day of Nerd Herd and national security responsibilities. Exhausted, he exhales deeply, flips onto his stomach, and settles under the covers. He slides his arms under his pillow, opens his eyes when his fingers find a paper substance. Grabbing the object, he pulls it out from beneath the pillow.

It's an envelope, a plain, yellowish one with his name written on the front in a simple hand.

He slides the seal open hesitantly and pulls out a small piece of paper. Even in the darkness of the bedroom, he can read the brief message:

_Be patient. Me, too._

_- SW_

A wide grin springs to his face, and, glancing around at the video camera mounted in the wall, he quickly returns the note to its envelope and replaces the envelope under the pillow. He lies down again and closes his eyes, suddenly content.

And for the first time in a long time, Chuck Bartowski falls asleep with a smile on his face.


	30. What I'd Give

Song: "What I'd Give," by Sugarland.

A/N: Special thanks to **BillatWork **and **GoldenGirl **for beta-ing.

Also, this may be the last _Collide _chapter for a while. I'm going out of state for the summer and won't have computer/internet access. I'm going to do my absolute best to finish _Seven Times_ before I leave, but I still have finals, so I don't anticipate getting the time to finish much other than that. Anyways, have a great summer. I hope that I'll come to a new season of "Chuck!"

* * *

Sarah wakes, feeling the warm morning sun on her face. She breathes deeply and squeezes the pillow. She's in a good place right now, and her relationship with Chuck has never been on better footing. They're _friends_ now, really friends. It's why she wakes up early to drive with him to work, why she spends her evenings with him watching movies and eating pizza, why she accepts every single one of Ellie's dinner invitations.

So when she wakes up in a room that's not her LA hotel room, she's more irritated than alarmed. Closer scrutiny reveals that it's actually her old apartment in DC, and that it's exactly the same as it was two years ago.

Before she can figure out what it all means, a phone on her bedside table rings. She reaches to answer it but pauses when she notices that it's a 2007 Intellicell model instead of her 2009 iPhone.

"What the hell?" she mutters softly to herself, turning the phone over in her hand.

Frowning, she jabs at the receive button and holds the cell up to her ear.

"Hello?" she asks sharply.

"Walker. Get you ass up and be ready in ten minutes."

Sarah rolls over and sits up. "Casey?"

"Who else would it be? We've got to be at headquarters. Beckman and Graham want to speak to us sooner than now."

She runs a hand through her hair, utterly confused. "Yeah, sure. I'll be ready."

And she is. Because getting ready for a meeting with superiors in ten minutes is enough to take her mind off what's actually going on. As she strolls down through hallway of Fort Meade a half-hour later, Casey in step beside her, her heels clicking against the polished tile floor, Sarah swipes a morning paper lying abandoned on a nearby bench. She stops walking abruptly as she catches sight of the date – September 23, 2007.

This isn't possible. It is _not_ possible to go to bed in 2009 and wake up 2007. Sarah grasps the paper tightly, the edges wrinkling in her hands, as she stares at it. Her heart races, her mind jumps to a thousand possibilities influenced by all the insane science fiction films she's watched with Chuck over the past two years.

But this is real life, not some stupid movie.

"Are you screwing with me, Casey?" she asks sharply.

Casey stops and turns, an eyebrow raised at her. "What? What are you talking about?"

Sarah runs a hand through her hair and takes a calming breath. Why would Casey play a joke on her? And one this big?

"How long have we been partners?" she asks.

"About eight months now. Why?"

"And what do we do actually?"

He takes a step toward her, leans forward, and says quietly, "We're head of the Intersect initiative, which, if you'll remember, is top secret, so I'll thank you not to go blabbering about it." He straightens and glances around. "You okay?" he asks gruffly.

Sarah stares at the floor, her eyes narrowed. She's been in situations like this before, when she has no idea what's going on, and she's always proven herself up to the challenge. She takes a deep breath. All she has to do is bide her time until an opportunity presents itself.

Abruptly, she tosses the paper aside again and says coolly, "Of course. I just didn't realize the weather would be so warm this week."

Her partner squints at her and grunts softly, withholding any comments. She returns to his side and they resume walking, turning the corner to the General's office. They're let in without ceremony. Apparently they've been doing this for a while, judging by that and the extent of Casey's trust in her. She doesn't understand it, doesn't understand how or why this is happening, but there's a certain amount of comfort in the fact that it's Casey by her side and not someone like Bryce.

Sarah turns her attention back to Graham and Beckman at the mention of Bryce's name.

"Agent Larkin has gone rogue," Graham says sternly. "It is our belief that he's after the Alpha Intersect."

Beckman clears her throat and slides a file across the desk. "We want you to find him and bring him back."

"What about the Intersect? Isn't that our priority?" Casey asks, glancing through the file before handing it off to Sarah.

Sarah flips through the dossier, pausing on the page that contains information about Stanford, about Chuck.

_Chuck_.

Of course. September 23, 2007. How could she not have realized the importance? A mere two days before her life changed.

Her experience in the agency has taught her over and over again that there's no rhyme or reason behind what happens in life. But as she stares at Chuck's name in the file, she suddenly feels as if she has a purpose, as if she's been given a second chance for a reason, whatever that reason happens to be. This is her chance to change things, to go back and fix the things she's screwed up in their relationship, in his life.

There's no way she can pass that up, and she's got a plan formulated before she can consciously decide to make one.

"That's why we called you two in," Graham growls. "So you can stop Larkin _and_ save the Intersect."

Casey swivels his head, his lips twitching as he tries not to grin.

"Excuse me, sir, ma'am," Sarah interjects, "I'd like to go to LA."

Beckman raises an eyebrow. "For what reason?"

Indicating the file, Sarah replies, "I think there's something suspicious with the roommate. He'll either know something or be involved."

Graham narrows his eyes while Beckman looks to Casey. "This seems like a very large hunch, Agent Walker. What do you think, Major?"

He makes a noise of approval deep in his throat. "I trust her, ma'am. Even her hunches."

Beckman sets her mouth. "Very well, Agents. Walker, you will go to LA and see what you can undercover from the roommate. Casey, track down Larkin before he gets to the Intersect. Any questions?"

Casey shakes his head, and Beckman dismisses them. They walk out together, down the winding corridors until they reach a bank of elevators.

Casey jabs at the down button and waits silently, but as soon as they're inside, alone, he asks, "You sure you know what you're doing?"

She smiles at him. "I think I have a pretty good idea."

He nods, checking the gun tucked into his waistband. "All right. I'll go after the twerp in DC, while you take care of the one in LA."

Chuckling, Sarah crosses her arms and leans against the back wall of the elevator. "Yeah. Let's check in at say, eight o'clock?"

He grunts his affirmation and, after a moment, adds, "Be careful, all right?"

"Why, Casey," she teases lightly, "your concern is touching." He smirks, and she says, "I will. You take care of yourself, too. I've heard Larkin can be quite the firecracker."

Casey looks at her, a gleam in his eye. "I can take him."

"I meant take it easy on him. He's not gonna know what hit him."

Sarah smiles and relaxes into their familiar rapport, almost giddy at the prospect of seeing Chuck.

**What I'd give to bring you flowers  
What I'd give to get you alone  
What I'd give to bring a smile across your face  
What I'd give to take you home**

As she walks into the Buy More, Sarah feels nervous, almost light-headed. Even though it's 2007, and they technically haven't met yet so he won't recognize her, _know_ her even, she can't stop the tightening feeling in her chest as she strolls down the main aisle and approaches the Nerd Herd desk.

Chuck's standing behind the desk, a phone tucked between his ear and shoulder, his familiar curly hair even curlier than she remembers. It feels so long since she's last seen him that just the sight of him brings a smile to her face. Morgan's there, too, looking at her intently.

When she gets close enough, she can hear Morgan say, "Who is that? Vicki Vale."

And right on cue, Chuck starts his Vicki Vale beat box. "Vicki-vale-vick-va-vicki-vale-vickity-vale . . ."

Sarah stops at the desk and waits for Chuck to notice her, well aware of Morgan's attention and amusement. She smirks, sending him a glance that says not to tell Chuck she's here.

When he finally realizes it on his own, he abruptly stops his impromptu rap and drops the phone receiver, which clatters to the floor. His face reddens, and he puts his hands on his hips, clearly embarrassed.

"I hope I'm not interrupting," she says with a smile. "That's from _Batman_, right?"

Time seems to stand still as both Morgan and Chuck stare at her, completely in awe, Morgan's mouth slightly agape. And after spending two years with them, she knows them well enough to know why. Chuck laughs nervously, but Morgan's the first to actually recover.

"Hi, I'm Morgan," he greets. "And this is Chuck."

Knowing the script off by heart, she teases, "Wow, I didn't think people still named their kids Chuck." Turning to Morgan, she adds, "Or Morgan for that matter."

Half playful, half nervous, Chuck replies, "My parents were sadists, and carnival freaks found him in a dumpster."

Morgan nods sagaciously. "But they raised me as one of their own."

Sarah laughs, breaking the ice.

"How can I help you . . ." Chuck trails off, fishing for her name.

A lump forms in her throat at the reminder that he has no clue who she is. The thought merely steels her resolve to set this right, to do it right this time.

"Sarah," she tells him with another brilliant smile.

"Sarah," he repeats, testing out the name like it's one he could get used to saying for the rest of his life. And he smiles that goofy smile of his, the one she fell in love with, the one she wants to see every day for the rest of her life. Only he has no idea how much it affects her.

Taking a deep breath, she sets her cell phone onto the counter. "I'm here about this."

Recognizing the problem immediately, he relaxes, comfortable in his world. "Oh, yeah, the Intellicell. Yeah, absolutely. This model has a little screw that pops loose right in the back here." Popping off the back of the phone, he sticks the back cover in his mouth and tightens the screw with a miniature screwdriver. "And you just go ahead and give it a couple of quick turns aaaaand –" He hands the cell phone back to her with a smile. "- good as new. No problem."

"Wow," she says, taking the phone from him. And, just to tease them, she says, "You geeks are good."

Caught off-guard but nonetheless pleased by the praise, Morgan and Chuck start rambling about being 'nerds' rather than 'geeks.' She chuckles softly as she listens to their explanations. Chuck falls quiet, looking slightly petrified, as if he's run out of conversation topics and has no idea what else to say to her. She stares at him with a smile, simply drinking him in.

Thankfully, Morgan chimes in and provides the perfect opportunity for continuing the relationship. "You know," he begins somewhat mischievously, "it's my buddy's birthday today."

Chuck shoots him a glare. His cheeks redden as he turns back to her and scratches the back of his neck self-consciously.

"Well, happy birthday, Chuck," Sarah tells him. Glancing up coyly, she smiles and adds shyly, "I hope you haven't made your wish yet."

Morgan practically bursts with joy at the flirtatiousness in her voice, even doing a mini-dance that he tries to hide from both her and Chuck, who's too busy staring, flabbergasted, at Sarah.

"His sister's throwing him a big party tonight," Morgan expounds. "You should come!"

Sarah glances at Morgan before turning back to Chuck. "I don't know. I wouldn't want to be an imposition."

Chuck's eyes widen as the suggestion hangs in the air for a moment. Finally, Morgan clears his throat and gives his friend a not-so-subtle nudge in the ribs.

"Uh, yeah," Chuck says quickly, fiddling nervously with his tie. "I mean no," he corrects. "No, you wouldn't be an imposition at all. I'd, uh, I'd love if it you came."

Smiling, Sarah nods firmly. "And I would love to come."

"Awesome!" Morgan interjects.

Sensing that Chuck's getting in over his head, Sarah takes a card out of her pocket and slides it onto the counter. "So I'll see you tonight then?"

Chuck's lips twitch into a smile as he picks up the card, and she can see his confidence reemerge. "Great. Yeah. I'll call you with the . . . specs."

He grimaces at his own lameness but brightens when Sarah laughs approvingly.

"Good. See you tonight," she says, taking a step backwards and turning away. She smiles at Morgan, who offers her a gallant bow, and takes a deep breath, wondering where exactly this night is going to go.

Looking over her shoulder, she grins and says, "Happy birthday, Chuck."****

What I'd give to make you coffee  
Find out how you like your eggs  
Wrapped around you in the morning  
A tangled lace of arms and legs

Chuck had called while she was in the shower and left a message about the details of the party. So here she is, showing up a half-hour late because she'd spent so long picking out what to wear. After knowing him for almost two years, she knows exactly what he likes. But she didn't want to risk giving the wrong impression if she'd chosen an outfit that was exactly what he'd expect a girlfriend of two years to wear, or one that made it look like she was trying too hard.

What's the impression she's trying to give anyways? Since she got to LA, she hasn't stopped to think about whether she's following the government's agenda or her own. And the thought scares her more than she wants to admit.

Taking a deep breath, Sarah wades through the crowd of people and wonders if Chuck actually knows any of them. She wanders around to the drink table, where three frat guys almost trip over their own feet in order to get her whatever she wants. Accepting a beer from one of them, she spots Devon out of the corner of her eye. She moves toward him, ignoring the protests of the guys in charge of the booze, but stops in her tracks when she notices Morgan hanging out of Chuck's window very conspicuously.

Ellie had told her the story of Morgan and Chuck's futile attempt at escape from the latter's 27th birthday party shortly into their acquaintance, and Sarah suddenly has the perfect entrance. Walking quickly, she walks into the apartment and is surprised when she's faced with even more guests in the living room.

Ignoring the gazes turned toward her upon her entrance, Sarah makes her way to the hallway and down to Chuck's bedroom. She pauses when she sees Ellie standing in the doorway, her hand on the doorknob.

"Chuck, I have invited real, _live_ women _for_ you," Ellie says vehemently. "So please, let's go. Morgan, you stay here."

Sarah chuckles as Ellie turns. The older woman stops in surprise at the sight of her and stares for a moment, a hand over her heart.

Sarah smiles amiably and holds out a hand. "Hi, you must be Chuck's sister. I'm Sarah."

"Yes!" Ellie replies, shaking Sarah's hand and smiling widely. "Yes, I am. It's very nice to meet you. You're a friend of Chuck's?"

"Yeah," Sarah nods. "We actually just met today, but he said it would be all right if I stopped by."

"Of course!" Ellie's grinning now, almost bursting at the seams with happiness over the fact that her brother's actually met someone. "Of course it's all right. Welcome! Can I get you a drink? Oh, I see you already have one. Did you meet Devon out by the drinks?"

Sarah, though she'd skipped over talking to Devon, shakes her head a bit to give the impression that she has no idea who he is.

"Oh, you haven't met Devon yet," Ellie says, half to herself. Remembering why Sarah's there, she laughs and gestures to the bedroom. "Sorry! Chuck's in there. Why don't you go on in?"

"Thanks."

Sarah walks into the room with a smile as Ellie pops her head in to mouth, "Oh, my God," at her brother, who scrambles to his feet in surprise.

"Hey!" Chuck greets, a nervous, happy smile on his face. "I didn't, I mean, I wasn't sure if you were going to come."

She leans in for a friendly hug. "Of course I came. Hey, Morgan."

Morgan steps back over the window frame and walks over to her for his own hug. "Sarah! We're glad you made it."

"I am, too."

Sarah looks between the two men expectantly and takes a sip of her beer. Chuck rubs his hands on the thighs of his jeans, chuckling nervously. Morgan just stands awkwardly, nodding his head.

"I'm sorry I didn't bring a birthday gift," she tells him.

He shrugs like it's no big deal.

"So," she begins again, "were you really trying to escape?"

Chuck's cheeks turn red, and he purses his lips in embarrassment. "Yeah. Yeah, we were."

She laughs. "Why? It's your own birthday party."

"Like we were telling Ellie," Morgan says, "we feel like we don't really fit in."

"Yeah," Chuck adds, "it was really nice of her to do this for me, but they're kind of all her friends. I never really know what to talk about with them."

Sarah smiles, slipping her hand into his. "Would you object to showing me around a little then?"

"Uh, no," he breathes. "Not at all."

"Great." Taking his hand, she pulls him out of the room and down the hallway, into the crowd of guests in the living room and kitchen. Morgan follows dutifully.

The apartment's too crowded for her taste, and apparently for Chuck's as well, so she continues leading them out to the courtyard, where they find a few free seats on the side of the fountain.

Sensing that Chuck's a little uncomfortable, she bumps his shoulder. "Hey," she says with a soft smile and offers him her beer. "Want a sip?"

Chuck looks at her amusedly, like he can't believe his luck in finding her, and her heart breaks at the realization that, even in this weird second chance she's somehow gotten, they still don't get their perfect beginning. She's still lying to him, still has ulterior motives.

Don't they deserve more than that?

Chuck, in a rare moment of boldness, takes the beer bottle from her and takes a sip.

"Thanks," he replies. "I find alcohol to be imperative at social functions."

"Well, maybe we can convince your sister's boyfriend to make us some mojitos a little later, but right now, let's just talk."

Eyebrows raised, he hands the beer back to her. "What do you want to talk about?"

"Well, you guys work at the Buy More?"

"Mmm-hmm, almost five years now," Chuck says.

"Seven for me," Morgan chimes in from Chuck's other side, "if you include summers."

"Do you like it there?" Sarah asks. Her eyes stray past Chuck to the corner of the courtyard, where Ellie and Devon are chatting together, the former talking and gesturing ecstatically to her boyfriend.

Chuck shrugs. "It's work."

Sarah nods, not wanting to press him about Stanford.

"_I_ like _my_ job," Morgan chimes in.

"That's only because you know exactly how to get out of work," Chuck jokes.

Morgan doesn't respond, and they turn to find he's run off after a passing platter of chips and salsa, carried by a tall, slender red-head in a tight tank top and short skirt.

"Two of Morgan's favorite things," Chuck laughs lightly, shaking his head. Turning back to Sarah, he asks, "So what about you? What's your story?"

She takes a deep breath and shrugs. "Well, for starters, I'm from DC. I don't know what my favorite band is, my favorite flowers are gardenias, and I don't like to talk about my past."

He laughs and, picking up on the music topic, launches into a conversation about his favorite bands and albums. She knows him, knows what he likes and what his favorite conversation topics are, and they talk comfortably for a while.

While he's waxing rhapsodic about a band called Arcade Fire, Sarah drains the last of her beer and sets the empty bottle on the fountain between them. He picks the bottle up and gives it a shake.

"Empty?" he asks. She nods. "Let me get you another one," he says, standing. "Want anything in particular?"

She shrugs. "Whatever you're having."

Chuck disappears into the crowd, but he's soon replaced by his sister, who emerges from among the guests to take a seat beside Sarah.

"Hi," Ellie greets amiably.

Sarah smiles. "Hi."

"Are you having fun?"

"Yeah," Sarah nods. "You really know how to throw a party."

"Thanks," Ellie shrugs. "It's the least we could do for Chuck." She pauses. "I like to do things for my brother. In fact, you should know that I'd do pretty much anything for him."

"Is this the part where you tell me you'll tie cement blocks to my feet and throw me off the Vincent Thomas Bridge if I hurt him?" Sarah chuckles.

Laughing, Ellie shakes her head. "No, but there _are_ a lot of things you have to know about him, about us."

"Such as?" Sarah prompts gently.

Ellie looks at her directly, weighing her options, and Sarah can see the secrets in those depths. She can see the night their mother left, the night Ellie and Chuck had learned to "rely on each other," as Chuck had once told her. She can see the day their father walked out on them, leaving them to once again redefine their definition of "family." She can see the afternoon Chuck arrived home on a train from Stanford, unceremoniously kicked out by his so-called best friend. She can see all that, see the pain in Ellie's eyes.

But Ellie shakes her head with a smile. "Maybe later. I don't want to freak you out right after you've met us," she says. "But anyways, it's good to have you here. Chuck doesn't exactly bring a lot of girls home."

Sarah nods her head, spotting Chuck over the heads of the crowd, in the corner getting another round of drinks. She looks back at Ellie and asks sagaciously, "And you're wondering why I'm here?"

"No," Ellie answers simply, "just glad that you are." She chuckles, "Although you do get major bonus points for getting him out and into the party."

"Well, I can't take all the credit," Sarah laughs. In a quieter voice, she says, "He's really a great guy."

Ellie stares at her, an approving smile on her face. "I love that you can see that after only a day. Not many women stick around long enough to really get to know him."

Sarah blushes and looks down at her feet. "I haven't had very many healthy relationships. Chuck's like a breath of fresh air. So really," she smiles, "I'm just being selfish."

Ellie, chuckling, pulls her into a brief, friendly hug. "I'm looking forward to getting to know you better."

**What I'd give to let you love me.  
Find out everything that brings you joy.  
Wake up to your face above me.  
I'd be that girl and you could be that boy.  
Find out why that feeling is****  
Oh, what I'd give  
What I'd give**

"A few tips for getting along with my brother," Ellie says with a laugh, "always be prepared for talk of comic books, and science fiction, and computers. He barely shuts up about them. Oh! and music and movies. Can't forget his love of pop culture." Sarah nods, admiring how well Ellie knows her brother. "But, that being said," the older woman continues, "you can always come to me if he's not being romantic enough. I'll give him a good kick in the pants."

Sarah lifts an eyebrow and smirks. "What makes you think I won't give him a kick in the pants myself?"

Ellie laughs heartily. "I just want you to know that you're very welcome around here. Any time."

"Thank you," Sarah replies, smiling softly. Music, Huey Lewis and the News she thinks, begins playing loudly from inside the apartment.

"After so many years of Morgan," Ellie says with an eye roll, "it'll be nice to have someone else around."

"I don't know. Morgan seems like a nice guy. A little strange maybe, but nice."

Ellie gives her a sad smile. "Yeah. Morgan's actually been a big help to Chuck over the years. He hasn't been the same since Jill . . ."

Sarah's ears perk up at the name and, in spite of herself, she finds herself asking, "Jill?" She knows the story, knows all the broken hearts that lay behind it, yet still she has this perverse desire to hear it all over again.

Pursing her lips, Ellie shakes her head. "It's a long story. But Jill . . . was his college girlfriend. She broke his heart. And it's taken him a long time to get over that. I'm still not completely sure he has." Ellie looks up, suddenly more cheerful. "But that's a story for Chuck to tell you."

Sarah smiles and looks around. "Speaking of Chuck, where did he run off to? He was getting me a drink."

"He's probably holed up in his room again, playing video games," Ellie shrugs. With a little push on the leg, she adds, "You should go find him."

Nodding, Sarah stands. "Okay. I'll see if I can drag him out again," she chuckles.

She gives Ellie a smile as she walks off into the dense crowd. Spotting Devon across the courtyard in a blue UCLA t-shirt, she pushes her way over to him while ignoring ogles from every guy within a ten-foot radius.

"Hi!" she greets brightly as she nears Awesome. "I'm Sarah, Chuck's friend. You must be Devon."

"Chuck's friend?" he asks in a booming voice, his eyebrow raised. "That's awesome!" Pulling her in for a tight hug, he says, "Great to meet you! What's up?"

"You, too. I'm looking for Chuck. Have you seen him?"

"I think he was in the house," he answers, his voice loud over the music. "You want me to find him?"

"No," she shakes her head with a smile. "I think I can handle it. Thanks."

Awesome gives her a grin as she leaves and heads towards the front door of the apartment. On the way, she overhears a few of Awesome's frat buddies chatting near the doorway.

"Did you see Chuck's new girl?" one of them says, and Sarah slows her walking, straining her ears to listen.

"Yeah! She's hotter than my last three girlfriends put together, and they were hot."

"I can't believe she's with him."

"What's she see in him?"

"If she had met one of us first, there'd be no contest."

There's raucous laughter from the group.

Sarah's blood boils as the laughter escalates. Turning on her heel, she stalks over to the group of frat boys. They fall quiet, looking smug, as she stands in front of them.

She fumes for a few seconds, watching their cocky smiles fade, before she states firmly, "Chuck Bartowski's ten times the man any of you will ever be."

She turns and walks away before that can sink in or they can react, and, to her surprise, Chuck emerges from the house at that moment. She crosses the short distance to him, wraps her arms around his torso, and smiles sweetly at him.

"There you are," she greets happily. "Where have you been? I've been looking for you."

"Sorry," he apologizes sheepishly, "I got tied up. Some of Awesome's buddies wanted my help setting up speakers for the music."

Sarah gives him a playfully admonishing look. "It _is_ your own birthday party, Chuck. You can relax a little, you know."

Squirming a bit, he shrugs. "I know. But I like to do it."

She smiles, knowing how much more comfortable he is setting up electronics than he is interacting with strangers. And when he looks so cute, how can she not cut him some slack? Chuckling, she looks up at him and says, "Why don't we get out of here for a while then? We can just talk."

Chuck brightens. "Yeah. Yeah, I'd like that."

"Good. Let's go somewhere a bit quieter."

She takes his hand and pulls him in the direction of the Morgan Door, past the group of guys she'd told off a few minutes earlier. They climb into his bedroom, Sarah catching sight of the frat guys' bewildered expressions as she turns to close the window and shut out the majority of the noise.

Chuck sits down on the foot of his bed, chuckling nervously and wiping his palms on the thighs of his jeans. Sarah turns to smile at him.

"Sorry," she says quietly. "I wanted to get away from those jerks."

"No, no," he replies, shaking his head, that nervous look still in his eye. "It's okay. I'm just not used to girls being so aggressive. Or girls at all for that matter. At least in real life. Non-fictional, non-internet based girls, that is."

Chuck grimaces, and Sarah lifts her eyebrows in amusement, causing him to blush to his roots. Laughing, she sits down next to him.

The smile he gives her steals her breath, reminds her of all the times they've shared – good and bad – times behind her, times before him. She's struck by the irony that, after listening to two years of his ramblings on science fiction movies, she now feels like she's in one, with no explanation, no way out. She's not even sure she wants to get out anymore, just as she's no longer sure what she's doing here.

The only thing she can think of is telling him the truth, the truth about her feelings for him. She wants to tell him how she fell in love with his awkward stammering and his bold kisses. How she fell for his goofy smile and his deep brown eyes. How she became addicted to the way he holds her. How she almost can't breathe without him beside her.

But he won't understand. He _can't_ understand.

So instead she says, "I'm not usually this forward." And the thing is she's _not_. She'd never approach a civilian, certainly not Chuck if she had just met him.

He smiles contently, his nerves seeming to compose, and finally says, "Well, I'm glad you're here."

"Me, too," Sarah answers softly. 

**What I'd give to take you dancing  
What I'd give to make you mine  
If you got questions, I got answers  
And my answer's "yes" to you every time**

"So, wait," Sarah chokes out between a laugh, "you call him Captain Awesome?" She's heard it before, _lived_ it in fact, but there's something about sitting on his bedroom floor, leaning against his bed, and reliving their first date that gets to her.

Chuck laughs and says, "Yeah, just wait till you spend time with him. Everything he does is awesome – climbing mountains, jumping out of planes, flossing."

"That's funny."

He shrugs sheepishly. "Well, I'm a funny guy."

"Clearly. Which is good, 'cause I am not funny."

"Is that your big secret, by the way? Because I've been sitting here trying to figure out what's wrong with you -"

"Oh, plenty. Believe me."

"And I was thinking, 'Either she's a cannibal, or she's really not that funny.' And I was pulling for cannibal, 'cause I'd never met one before."

"Uh . . . not a cannibal," she laughs, bursting his bubble.

She enjoys the time she's able to spend with him, enjoys how much he can make her laugh with even the stupidest remarks. She calms herself down. After all, she's supposed to find out what he's hiding, even though he's really not hiding anything.

Then, remembering what all her efforts to smoke out his skeletons lead to, she continues with the script she's long since committed to memory. "But I did just come out of a long relationship, so I may come with baggage."

"Well, I can be your very own baggage handler," he says unthinkingly, his expression showing his immediate wish to take back his words.

Sarah blushes. She'd forgotten how cute he is when he gets nervous.

"Uh, so, the guy, the ex," he continues to cover the awkward moment, "the guy, the ex is the reason you moved here . . .?"

"Uh, DC, yeah," she confirms. "After I realized that all of my friends were his friends, and that everything about Washington reminded me of . . . Bruce, I needed a change, a big one."

She hates sticking with the same old story, especially since it doesn't even feel true any more, not in this strange second chance where Casey's her partner and she apparently never knew Bryce. But this is how the conversation goes. This is something she can latch on to, something to connect her to her real life.

"Bruce," Chuck repeats incredulously. "Yeah, you give me crap for being Chuck, and you went out with a Bruce?" She laughs, and he continues playfully, "That's nice, that's real good."

"So what about you?" she asks cautiously. "What skeletons do you have in your closet? Any secrets? Any women?"

He contemplates that, leaning his head against the side of the mattress. "Uh, yeah," he finally answers. "Yeah, actually, back in college, there was someone." He pauses for a moment, seeming to recall something. With a bright smile, he says, "Actually, that's all over with now, and her restraining orders are very specific. So . . ."

"I like you, Chuck," Sarah pronounces matter-of-factly.

She's close to him now, her mouth inches from him. She glances at his lips, and her thought process dissolves. Letting her eyes drift shut, she inclines her head towards him.

"Chuck."

The interruption comes from the doorway, and Sarah opens her eyes to see Ellie standing there, a flustered look on her face.

"Oh, I'm so sorry," Ellie tells them.

Chuck, red in the face, runs his hand through his hair and laughs lightly. "No, no. It's all right," he says, even though Sarah has to force a deep breath of air into her lungs to calm herself down. He smiles at his sister. "What's up?"

"Just, everyone's gone. Devon and I thought you'd want to watch some TV with us, but I didn't realize Sarah was still here."

Ellie gives her a little smile and wave, which Sarah returns.

Chuck glances over at her before turning back to his sister and saying, "Thanks. We'll be out in a few minutes."

Ellie nods, beaming, and backs out of the doorway. Shifting uncomfortably, Chuck looks at his stretched-out feet. His pinky brushes against hers on the floor, and his cheeks go red again. Chuckling softly at his embarrassment, Sarah laces their fingers together. Surprisingly, Chuck makes no objection.

His computer bleeps, and they both turn their heads at the noise. Sarah rolls her eyes. It's one interruption after another in this place. She sighs as Chuck picks himself up off the floor and walks over to his computer.

"Huh, that's weird," he murmurs, more to himself than to her, as he sits at his desk and stares at the screen.

Sarah stands and, walking behind him, rests her hand on the back of his chair. "What is it?" she asks him.

"No, it's just," Chuck begins, glancing up at her and shaking his head incredulously, "my roommate from college sent me an e-mail. I haven't spoken to him in almost five years."

"Wow," she breaths softly, feeling her heart drop inside her chest.

"Yeah," Chuck says in a similar tone. "I can't believe it either. The guy got me kicked out of school and all of a sudden he sends me a birthday message?" He turns around and looks at her, forcing a smile onto his face. "I'm sorry. This is stupid. Why don't we forget about this and go watch a movie with Ellie and Awesome?"

He stands and takes a step toward the door, but Sarah, her head swirling with possibilities, stops him gently with an arm across his abdomen.

This is her shot. This is her chance to save him from the life he never wanted. All she has to do is destroy the e-mail. He'd be free to live his life. He can quit the Buy More, finish his degree, start a company, do everything he's ever dreamed of. And she can share everything with him. She can be by his side, come back to him between missions, have someone waiting for her in a real home.

But who's she kidding? They could never have a real relationship. He deserves so much more than a woman like her, and she could never rest easy keeping so many secrets from him.

It would never work, and she doesn't want to live without him.

If she doesn't let him open it, he can have the life he wants, but she knows it still won't allow him to live up to his full potential. He's good at his job, she's seen it. She's watched him grow over the two years she's known him, watched him grow into a role he never asked for but was meant to have. He should at least have that chance.

Sarah stares at the message notification on the computer screen, still holding on to a last desperate hope that they can make this work, that she can do it better this time around.

"Uh, Sarah?" Chuck ventures quietly.

Blinking, she comes back to the present, her hand still around his waist. She turns to face him and, taking a deep breath, says softly, "You should open the e-mail."

Chuck looks at her in confusion. "What?"

"It's late," she says quickly. "I should go, but . . . open the e-mail."

Bringing her hands up to his face, she smiles sadly and gives him a short, soft, desperate kiss. She moves away from him, and he reaches out for her, his eyes begging her to stay. She squeezes his hand, loath to lose that connection.

"Will I see you again?" he asks, his thumb torturously gliding against her wrist.

"Definitely," she answers. "I'll call you tomorrow."

Chuck deflates slightly, like he's heard that line and has finally figured out what it means. But she doesn't mean it like that. No way in hell.

"Or maybe we can set up a lunch date right now?" she suggests.

"Yeah," he answers, his grin back in place. "I'd like that."

"Great. How about I meet you at the Buy More at twelve-thirty?"

He nods. "Okay, yeah. Sounds good."

Sarah smiles and gives him another kiss, this time on the cheek. "See you tomorrow then," she tells him before slipping out the window. She wills herself not to look back, to just walk away, but she doesn't get very far before she hears him call after her.

"Do you need a ride home?" he asks, and she turns around, smiling at the sight of him half-hanging out of the window frame.

Sarah pauses, her lungs tight in her chest. She could say yes. She could say yes, and they could have one night to themselves, one night before all the craziness starts. He's not exactly that kind of guy, but she's seen a boldness in him tonight that she never expected. She bites her bottom lip, contemplating her answer.

How much of it would be real? And how could she face him when he finds out who she is?

She takes a deep breath, breathing in the cool night air. "That's okay," she finally forces out. "I drove. But I'll see you tomorrow."

"Okay," he smiles. "Good night, then."

"'Night," Sarah responds quietly as she turns and walks out of the courtyard, hoping she's not walking out of his life.****

What I'd give for just one minute  
What I'd give to count all the ways  
If your heart was dark with nothing in it  
I'd give you mine and take your place

Perched on the hood of her new Porsche, Sarah watches Chuck sitting on the beach. The sun's coming up, and he's been sitting here most of the night, ever since he took off after unexpectedly diffusing the bomb at General Stanfield's talk. With a sigh, she shucks her boots, jumps down from the car, and walks over to him.

"How long you been here?" he asks.

Sitting down next to him, she says, "All night."

Chuck grimaces, looking out at the ocean. "There's no where I can run." It's a statement, not even a question. Her heart breaks to realize he's already given up hope.

"Not from us," she admits. Glancing at the waves and back to him, she can see how huge this is for him. "Talk to me, Chuck."

"Yesterday, I was making eleven bucks an hour fixing computers," he says without looking at her. "Now I have one in my brain, and I can't figure out why Bryce did this, why he chose me."

She knows why he did it, knows Chuck's the perfect guy for this, but Chuck doesn't know that, and she can't tell him yet. It's something he has to figure out on his own.

"What are you gonna do with me?" Chuck asks. "What happens now?"

"For now, you go back to your own life," she tells him. "We'll protect you, and you'll work with us."

"And my sister? My friends? Are they in danger?"

"Tell them nothing to keep them safe."

Chuck sighs. "What about you?"

"What about me?" she asks evasively.

"What about two days ago? Was everything just a lie?" His voice is quiet, full of latent anger.

"No," Sarah answers softly. "I know you won't understand, that I can never hope to explain it to you well enough. I may have been lying about who I was, but I wasn't lying to you about anything important."

"But the e-mail," he begins, shaking his head, "you let me open it." His expression hardens as he accuses, "How could you do that? You must have known, but you still let me open it. How could you ruin my life like that?"

Sarah squeezes her eyes shut, swallowing down the tears. She hadn't expected such a vehement reaction. "Chuck –"

"No," he cuts her off, finally looking at her, the pain in his eyes nearly unbearable. "That's why you came, wasn't it? To make sure I opened it. You were working with Bryce."

"Of course not," she snaps harshly, angered by the accusation. She takes a breath, shaking her head. "Chuck . . . there's no way I can explain this without sounding crazy. Yes, I work for the CIA. I was supposed to stop that e-mail from being opened, but I know what you're capable of. I know it better than you do. And I realized I had no right to take that away from you, no matter how much it hurts me."

His eyes soften. "Why would it hurt you?"

She purses her lips and looks out at rolling ocean. With a sigh, she tells him softly, "I know you don't understand any of this right now, but you will. You'll wake up one day and realize that this is the life you were meant to lead, this is the person you were meant to be. I had no right to take that away from you."

"How long will that take?" he asks, a tiny smile starting to form on his lips.

She smiles. "A while. But I promise I'll be by your side until you get there, and even after if you still want me." Chuck tightens his lips and gives her a small nod. She smile sadly. "I need you to do one more thing for me."

"Yeah?"

"Trust me, Chuck."

He turns his gaze toward her and smiles tentatively, and, knowing how freaked out he must be, she bumps his shoulder. That finally draws a real, full smile from him. Turning their gazes to the ocean, they watch the rest of the sunrise in silence, content to let the future come as it will.****

What I'd give to let you love me  
Find out everything that brings you joy  
Wake up to your face above me  
I'd be that girl and you could be that boy  
Find out why that feeling is**  
Oh, what I'd give  
Ooh, what I'd give**

Sarah stirs, roused by the smell of freshly-made pancakes. Her eyes still closed, she breathes in deeply, shifts to bury her face in the pillow, and lets the lingering images of her dream fade into the recesses of her mind. She reaches out, needing someone to be there, but the bed is empty, the sheets cool against her fingertips. She opens one eye, knowing she's alone but dismayed at the confirmation anyway. Heaving a sigh, she flips onto her back to stare at the ceiling, her arm resting against her forehead.

Summoning her willpower, she drags herself out of bed and grabs some clothes from the bottom drawer of the dresser. As she makes her way toward the door, Chuck walks in, freshly showered.

"Oh," he says, startled, "I didn't realize you were awake."

"Just woke up," she replies with a slight smile.

"Well," he says uncertainly, fiddling with the hem of his t-shirt, "Devon made pancakes if you're hungry."

She holds up the bundle of clothes in her arms. "I think I'm going to shower first. But I'll be out soon. Save me some?"

He nods solemnly. She walks past him, stopping only when he gently grabs her wrist and spins her about.

"What's wrong?" Chuck asks, concern etched on his face.

"Nothing," she answers automatically, and he drops her hand like even the touch of her skin is painful.

He steps back, and the ache in her heart increases with the distance between them. Pursing her lips, she tosses her clean clothes decisively onto the unmade bed.

She crosses the room and says, "I was thinking about what you asked me last night."

Chuck doesn't respond, doesn't look at her, just continues to get ready. Exasperated, Sarah grabs him by the arm, forcing him to finally meet her eyes.

"The answer's no," she tells him. Sensing his confusion, she backs away slightly and explains, "I'm sorry, Chuck. But if I had the chance to change our situation, I wouldn't. I wouldn't stop you from downloading the Intersect, because, like it or not, the Intersect is part of who you are." She pauses, flustered, struggling to find the right words. "I mean, because of the Intersect, you've stepped out of the world of the Buy More and into one that let you finally use all your amazing talents. And I'd never forgive myself if I were responsible for limiting your potential."

Sarah turns around and walks away from him, picking up her clothes from the bed. Frustrated, she sighs. Quietly, almost bitterly, she murmurs, "Besides, without it, we wouldn't have met."

His hand is on her waist almost immediately. She doesn't turn around even though his breath on her neck is tantalizingly warm.

Chuck presses a soft kiss to her temple and whispers, "I'll save you some pancakes. Chocolate chip."

He moves away, taking his hand off her hip, and she feels the separation like a knife to her heart. Sarah watches him leave the room, her longing amplified with every step he takes. But as she watches his retreating form, her heart fills with a solemn hope.

This is the only way, after all, and maybe, with enough luck, with enough _love_, they can eventually get their happy ending.


	31. Get Out of This Town

Song: "Get Out of This Town," by Carrie Underwood.

A/N: I'm officially back from my summer exploits (have been for a week), and I'm ready to settle into my old routine of procrastinating on my homework by writing. :P I've missed this story, and I've definitely got a few more chapters cooked up, so stay tuned (if you haven't gotten sick of this story already, lol)!

This chap's specially dedicated to **SLWF**, who is probably the biggest Carrie Underwood fan I know.

Once again, thanks to **BillatWork **for taking the time to read this over.

Btw, there are a few shout-outs in the towns they visit. (You'll see what I mean.) :D

* * *

"_I don't want to save the world. I want you."_

Chuck wakes up with her words in his mind, with her scent in his lungs. His face is buried in her hair, his arm is curled around her waist, and he's never been this content. He opens his eyes and lifts his head to gaze at her, slightly awed by the sunlight falling onto her face. Her bridesmaid dress is pooled on the floor beside the bed, a purple puddle of satin, right next to the black of his suit. Memories of the previous night flood his mind at the sight, and he can't keep the grin from his lips.

There's a lightness in his chest that he can't remember feeling since before this all began. There are no more government secrets in his head, and there's a woman beside him who is completely, gloriously free of anything that even remotely resembles the duty she's been a slave to her entire adult life.

Smiling, he falls back against the pillow and nuzzles his nose against the nape of her neck. She stirs sleepily and pulls his arm tighter around her stomach.

"Mmm," Sarah murmurs as he places a soft kiss against her shoulder.

A smile lighting up her eyes, she flips around to face him and runs a hand up his chest and into his hair. Her fingers twirl into his curls as she presses a kiss to his lips.

"Hi," she breathes, looking more open and happy than he's ever seen her.

"Hi," he returns before moving in for a proper kiss.

Sarah relaxes and sinks into him, her fingers tangling lazily into his hair. At a sudden noise from the other end of the house, she breaks the kiss and props herself up on an elbow, her eyes narrow and alert as she listens.

"Relax," he chuckles, "I think my dad's making breakfast."

"Sorry." She lowers her head against the pillow with a sheepish look, an apology for old habits. He's just thrilled that their lives have changed drastically enough to allow her spy habits to be categorized as 'old.'

After a glance at the clock, he sighs heavily, reluctantly slides his arms from around her, and stretches his muscles. It's just past noon. "We should probably get up before Dad comes in to make sure we'll still alive."

Sarah laughs and slips out from beneath the covers. She's wearing his Browncoat shirt and her hair is rumpled from sleep, but he's never seen anything more beautiful. His breath catches in his throat as he realizes that he gets to wake up beside her every morning, that this is the life she's chosen. She made a choice to be with him.

In twenty-four hours, he's gone from being the government's toy to the luckiest guy alive.

She leans over to kiss his forehead and whisper, "I'm going to shower. Save me some pancakes?"

He nods. "Sure."

She steps gingerly over their clothes and around the bed. He leans up on his elbows to watch her. Sunlight glints off her charm bracelet as she walks past the window.

"Sarah?"

"Yeah?"

Chuck hesitates, unsure of how to express himself. Finally, softly, he says, "You stayed."

Sarah turns, a shy smile gracing her features. She tucks a piece of hair behind her ear, walks over to him, and leans down to brush her lips over his.

"Yeah," she whispers, "and I'm not going anywhere."

**Got it all figured out inside of my head  
There's a bag packed up at the foot of my bed  
****You say the word  
Baby, I'm all set**

The diner is small but comfy, and its slightly lived-in feel is exactly what he would expect of a roadside establishment. They find a corner booth, where Sarah, in her Padres jersey and ball cap, looks like a local.

They've been gone for a day, San Diego their first stop in a play-it-by-the-ear trip. Though he hasn't really asked Sarah where they're going, he likes to think she has it all worked out. She's quiet, like she is always is, but happy, a small smile almost constantly gracing her lips. He's known her long enough now to know her moods, to know that this type of quiet is a good kind of quiet.

She's smiling now, seemingly unconsciously, her hand laying gently over his as she studies the map spread over the table. Chuck watches her contentedly while she drags a forefinger across the map, her brows narrowed in concentration, her bottom lip between her teeth.

"So where are we going next?" he questions innocently before taking a sip of his chocolate milkshake.

Sarah looks up at him, her eyes sparkling. "Where would you like to go?"

"Hmm . . ." he says, sipping the shake and pretending to think. "Sarah, you know I'm game for anything, as long as I'm with you."

She steals his milkshake with a chuckle. "Well, I've got a plan, and you're in good hands."

"I trust you," he assures her quietly. Their eyes lock for a moment before Sarah glances away shyly.

"I think it's better if we go north first, though," she tells him, "so we're going to have to retrace our steps a little bit."

"That's fine," he says. "But I'm glad we made a stop here first."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

A small smile spreads over her lips as she gives his fingers a squeeze, and he knows he doesn't have to say anything else. He could tell earlier how much the baseball game meant to her, how many memories it brought back, and he can tell right now how hard she's trying to open up to him.

Without looking at him, she says quietly, "My dad and I always used to go to baseball games together. We moved a lot, but we always seemed to end up in a city with a baseball team, even if it was only a minor league team. He'd take me to the park early, and we'd eat hotdogs and watch the players warm up." She sighs. "Ball games were always the most time we got to spend together."

Accepting the given information with a calm nod, Chuck swipes a French fry from her plate and pops it into his mouth. He can't help but feel like this trip is going to be an exploration of her past, like each stop in their journey will reveal another piece of her.

"I think I could get into baseball," he tells her. "It might take a while for me to really get all the rules down, but I like it. It's got a nice pace." Sarah's smile grows radiant and her eyes shine brightly. He chuckles, rubbing his thumb over the back of her hand. "So how do we feel about the Dodgers?"

"Well," she chuckles, "they are in the same division as my Padres."

"Ooh, so inevitably, our children will have to decide which team to support, and there will be an enthusiastic but healthy rivalry within our family."

The mention of children is a gamble, but Sarah doesn't hesitate in her retort. "As long as we're clear that my Padres will always kick your Dodgers' asses."

He lets out a loud bark of a laugh. After their loss that afternoon, he's pretty sure the Padres won't be beating the Dodgers anytime soon. But he lets the trash talk go and steals another fry. And as the blond across the booth smiles at him, he realizes that they're no longer Sarah Walker and Charles Carmichael, superspies extraordinaire.

They're just Sarah and Chuck, a young couple sharing a milkshake, sharing a road trip, sharing a future.

**We'll cover our tracks, tell a couple white lies  
Make sure we got a good alibi  
And by the time they catch on, we'll be out of their sight  
Long gone, baby**

It's raining as they drive into Seattle. They've been on the road for over a week now, driving up the coast from San Diego, hitting cities from San Francisco to Eureka to Portland, stopping whenever they saw something that piqued their interest.

He wants to take her out for real in Seattle, take her to a fancy restaurant, maybe go to the theater. Her face lights up when he tells her his plans, and they go on a mini-shopping spree to buy Sarah a new dress. He enjoys spending the afternoon with her, enjoys watching her try on new dresses and giving his less-than-professional opinion. More than enjoying it, he revels in the normalcy of it all. For the first time, there's no one around to pretend for. There's no national security emergency to worry about; there's no need to shore up their cover as boyfriend and girlfriend. Sarah touches him for no other reason than because she can, and she takes every opportunity to show him how she feels. Her hand never leaves his, and she keeps the other draped around his neck. They walk down the street wrapped in each other, brilliant smiles lighting up their faces.

Because Sarah insists on taking care of all the trip details herself, their hotel is one of the grandest, most luxurious he's ever stayed in. He's pretty sure one night costs more than he had made in one paycheck at the Buy More. The suite is majestic, the sitting room and the bedroom separated by an archway decorated with gold leafing. French doors open up onto a connecting balcony overlooking the bay.

Chuck looks at the red dress shirt and pair of black slacks that Sarah's laid out on the bed for him. They're wrinkled from being stuffed into a suitcase for a week and a half now, and it takes him a full twenty minutes to iron them. He changes, pulls on black socks and his trusty Converses, and attempts to tame his hair.

The bed sheets are so crisp, so comfortable that he's terrified of even sitting on the bed for fear of wrinkling them, so he walks out onto the balcony to wait until Sarah emerges from the bathroom. He leans on the railing and lets the late afternoon sun wash over his face.

Two weeks ago, this would have been a dream.

He sighs. This _should_ be a dream. Sarah's one of the most gorgeous women he's ever known. She's intelligent, interesting, agile, and she should be with someone who deserves her, someone who complements her. She deserves someone who can match her step for step, who can anticipate her every move and meet her halfway. She should be with a man who's charming and dashing, a man who looks like he's stepped straight out of a Bond movie.

But instead she's with him.

The doors behind him open. He turns at the sound, and his heart stops beating for a split second as he catches sight of her. She's wearing a bluish-purple halter dress, the soft fabric flowing around her knees, and just enough makeup to enhance her nearly effortless beauty.

But her smile . . .

Her smile is enough to warm his heart, to reassure him that he was her choice, and that she's not changing her mind any time soon.

Sarah walks toward him and places her hands on his chest. He slides his arms around her waist, closes his eyes, and breathes in deeply, inhaling the scent of strawberry shampoo.

"You look wonderful," he breathes.

"So you do," she chuckles, placing a peck on his lips and straightening his collar. "Very dapper."

Chuck runs his fingers lightly up and down her lower back, and Sarah shivers faintly. With a lopsided smile, he places a soft kiss on her jaw and whispers, "Why don't we just stay in tonight?"

Pulling away just enough to look in his eyes, she laughs. "Nice try, mister, but you're taking me out on a proper date tonight."

He offers her a mock scowl. "You say that like I've never taken you on a quote-unquote 'proper date'."

Her eyes gleam as she leans in for a kiss, pulling him closer by his shirt collar. "Watching movies on the couch with Ellie and Awesome doesn't exactly count."

He grins, conceding the point. "Fine. So what exactly does a proper date consist of?"

"Hmm . . . the particulars aren't that important. Restaurant, play, etcetera are up to you. But tonight, there must be candles. There must be . . . moonlight. And some romantic music. Maybe even a serenade?"

Chuckling, he replies, "I think I can handle that. I can't make any promises about the serenade yet though."

"Good." Sarah pecks him on the lips. "It's already after five. We should get going or we'll miss our reservations." She pulls away and walks back toward the room. "Oh," she says, turning back as she reaches the balcony doors. There's a wicked smile on her face that sends a shiver of terror through Chuck. "And there must be whipped cream."

She walks back into the hotel room, leaving Chuck's mouth agape and his eyebrows climbing into his hairline.

"Wait!" he calls after her. "You mean for dessert, right?"

She continues to resolutely walk away from him, declining to answer, and he gulps as he watches her sauntering form.

Rolling his eyes to the sky, he sighs and reassures himself, "She must mean dessert."

**Let's get out of this town tonight  
Nothing but dust in the shadows  
Gone by morning light  
Somewhere we won't ever get caught, ever be found  
Baby let's just get out of this town**

Sarah slows the car as they pull into the driveway. The lakeside cabin is big, much bigger than he'd expected when Sarah had told him of its existence. It's a family home, left to her by her mother. Out of use for years because of her service in the agency, the paint is peeling and cobwebs haunt the corners of the porch ceiling.

She takes him by the hand as they ascend the front steps. She pauses before the door, swallowing thickly. Turning to him, she says softly, "No more lies."

Chuck, hearing the future in those three words, simply nods. It's a future full of Saturday morning Little League games, and big family holidays, and silly school plays.

"I may not be able to tell you everything about my past," she continues, "but I promise . . . no more lies."

This trip, this house, feels like their attempt to make up for lost time. He knows how hard Sarah's been working to put her training behind her and instead open herself up to him. He always had admired her courage.

He gives her hand a squeeze and plants a kiss on her temple, and they walk through the front door together. The kitchen is wide and open, brightly lit by the midday sun shining through the window. In the living room, he's amazed to find the furniture intact and pictures still on the mantle, a thick coat of dust covering the glass. He slides a thumb down the length of the nearest photo to reveal a head of frizzy blonde hair and a brilliant smile with two missing front teeth.

Chuck laughs quietly before following Sarah through the doorway to the den. The entire cabin is musty and dusty, but it's nothing that a little cleaning won't fix, and they spend the rest of the afternoon giving it a thorough scrub-down until it gleams like it's newly-built.

He isn't sure what the plan for this stop of the trip is, but when they go into town to do some grocery shopping later that evening, they buy enough food to last a few days. After the supermarket, Sarah takes him to a home store to get bedclothes. The cabin's master bedroom is inhabitable, complete with furniture, but the sheets on the king-sized bed, out of use for so long, are yellowed with age.

Chuck follows Sarah as she rounds a corner into an aisle filled with plain white sheet sets. She stops, her mouth twitching as she considers their choices.

"Uh-uh," he says, preempting her decision. "Nothing plain. We're putting some color in that room."

Sarah laughs. "Oh, are we? And exactly what color are we talking?"

"Oh, definitely green. Bright green. Chartreuse, some might say." He snorts, struggling to stifle his laughter. "Maybe even some splashes of pink."

"All right then, mister," she replies, dragging him to the next aisle. "Let's see what we can find."

Smiling impishly, Chuck nuzzles her neck as they continue to stroll through the aisles. Sarah playfully tries to push him away, but she doesn't let go of his hand and he stays by her side. People look at them with smiles, assuming them to be the young, in-love couple they look like, and Sarah's face grows happier by the moment. They find some suitably bright sheets in short enough order, along with the few other items they need for the cabin, before heading back and spending the rest of the evening decorating.

When every curtain is in place, every dish cleaned and set in its proper cupboard, Chuck moves toward the couch with every intention of putting his legs up to rest, but Sarah, a blanket under her arm, intercepts him and tows him outside.

"Sarah, where are we going?" he asks, dropping his voice unconsciously when faced with the stillness of the night.

"Shhh," she replies with a soft chuckle as she continues to lead him around the cabin and down the path to the lake.

When they reach the edge of the lake, she unfolds the blanket, spreads it on the damp grass, and lies down on one side. Mesmerized by the sight of her in the moonlight, his breath caught in his chest, he hesitates. But, smiling widely, she twists her head to look up at him and pats the blanket beside her, and he flops down next to her.

His arm underneath his head, he tilts his head up to take in the night sky. His eyes take a moment to adjust, and the stars twinkle out at him one by one. Slowly, Sarah inches over to him until she's close enough to slide a hand onto his stomach. Reaching his arm around her shoulders, he pulls her in so she can snuggle against him.

In this moment, nestled here in the mountains, listening to the gentle lapping of the water, gazing up at the stars, breathing in his girlfriend's familiar scent, everything in his world seems to fall into place. Then he's struck by an abrupt thought.

"Sarah," he says suddenly.

She lets out a soft chuckle and slides her hand up to his chest. "What is it, Chuck?"

"This is your house, Sarah! You _own_ this," he says, and he laughs, a sharp, delighted laugh that resonates through the dark trees.

"You sound skeptical," she responds playfully, "like I have a secret sibling who might come out of the woodwork and claim it as her own."

"No, no, no," he says quickly. "I mean, this something that belongs to you, something that no one can take away."

"Something we can share?" she finishes for him.

He takes a deep breath. "Uh, yeah. Is that, is that all right?"

Sarah shifts slightly, cranes her neck to plant a kiss on the underside of his jaw. "Of course," she murmurs, settling her head against his chest. "You want to know what I see when I look out the living room window? When I see you lounging on our brand-new bedspread?"

"Yeah."

"I see us summering here," she tells him quietly. "I see us hiking in the mountains, and canoeing on the lake. I see Awesome begging Ellie to buy a speedboat so he can water ski. I see birthday parties and holiday picnics in the backyard, right on the lake. I see scraped knees and lost teeth and firefly jars and a million other things that make me crazy impatient to start our life."

He takes a deep breath, feeling as if he's inhaling the future she's offering. "Are you sure you won't miss it?"

"How could I miss it when I have everything I want right here?"

Chuck breathes out, a silly smile on his face. "I love Colorado."

**Don't need directions, don't need a map  
If we get lost I'll be good with that  
Yeah, we'll find a way to make the time pass  
Windows rolled down with the heat on high  
Stars all aligned in a runaway sky  
Holding my hand as the miles roll by  
Long gone, baby**

Chuck gasps as he rounds the corner and is promptly greeted by the sight of the rising sun poking its head over the bare orangey rock. The view is so unexpected, so awe-inspiring that his feet stop of their own accord and Sarah bumps into him gently from behind. She grasps his arm, chuckling softly before losing her breath as she turns her face toward the horizon.

He had thought she was crazy when she wanted to get up in the middle of the night to start hiking. He's not the strongest hiker to begin with, and he was certain that hiking in the dark would have been disastrous. But now he's grateful that she shook him awake at three AM and forced him out into the chilly early morning air.

"This is incredible," he exhales.

Sarah, unable to tear her eyes from the view, squeezes his hand. "Aren't you glad I convinced you to get up now?" she teases.

"Uh, I don't think 'convince' is the right word exactly. Jumped on me and threatened to strand me at the only gas station in Moab is more like it."

She pushes his shoulder, her soft laughter echoing across the empty canyon. "You'll forgive me when you get your camera out and realize how great the photos are from up here." He frowns, because he's in love with the new digital camera she's given him but he's not particularly inclined to voice his agreement, and she continues, "Come on. Let's find a seat. We've only got a few minutes!"

They find a nearby rock to view the sunrise from, and Sarah leans against him as he fishes his digital camera from her backpack.

After the fifteenth picture, she gently lowers the camera from his eye line and says, "You're missing the show."

Grinning, he complies by turning off the camera and sliding his arms around her waist.

She snuggles into him, and, after a few minutes of silence, says quietly, "We used to stop here when I was a kid. I used to hate driving across the country, moving from one town to another, but my dad, he would always make sure we'd stop here. He would take us up to the top of one of these mountains, and we'd watch the sunrise, or the sunset. He'd pack a little picnic for us.

"And for a few hours, I could be a little girl again."

Chuck rubs her back lightly and kisses her hair. "Thank you," he whispers.

Sighing happily, she sits back in his arms and they watch the sun continue to rise. When it's fully over the horizons, Chuck suggests taking a picture against the backdrop of the valley. She watches laughingly as he spends a full five minutes setting the self-timer and placing the camera against a rock. It takes them three tries to get a picture that doesn't cut off some essential body part, but they're saved when an older couple appears on the summit and Chuck jumps at the chance to have them take the picture.

"I'm sorry to trouble you," he says, addressing the woman, who has short graying hair and a kind smile. "But could you possibly take our picture?" He gives her a lopsided grin. "We're not having very much luck with the self-timer."

"Of course," she says, taking the camera from Chuck. "But only because you and your wife are so adorable!"

Stunned, Chuck falters. Turning around, he stutters, "Uh, no, you misunderstand. We're not actually – whoa!"

Sarah grabs his hand and pulls him over to her side before he can explain further. Smiling up at him, she slides her arms around his waist.

"Right," he says softly as he gazes down at her. "It's not that important."

The woman holds the camera up to them, chuckling at their images on the viewfinder. "Big smiles now!"

Chuck and Sarah smile their biggest smiles and look toward the camera.

"Okay, one, two three!"

Later that night, as Chuck sits beside the campfire and looks through the pictures on his camera, he lingers on that one.

"Do you ever think about it?"

Sarah's voice startles him out of his thoughts, and he looks up sharply. She's sitting across the fire in one of his old Buy More sweatshirts, her arms wrapped around her knees, the flames illuminating her face.

"I'm sorry, what?"

"Do you ever think about getting married?" she asks quietly, and he can barely hear the question over the crackling of the flames.

Chuck stares at the fire.

Does he think about it? He's been so caught up in this trip, in figuring out what passes as normal for their new relationship, that he hasn't given much thought to what lies ahead. He's been reveling in waking up next to her each morning, and spending days by her side. He's been too preoccupied with figuring out her quirks and paying attention to her interests that every thought of what they'll do when they finally get back to LA flew right out of his mind.

Of course, he's always assumed that it will happen eventually, that the path they're on will undoubtedly lead them to marriage and family.

But he's never actually stopped to think about how they'll get there. The details have escaped him – buying a ring, planning the proposal, calming himself down enough to actually ask the question.

Would she say 'yes'?

Lifting his eyes to hers, he admits softly, "No. I guess I've just been too caught up in this, in finally being with you." Though her face betrays nothing, he feels as though she's disappointed in his answer. He swallows thickly. "Have you thought about it?"

Taking a deep breath, Sarah looks at the flames and murmurs, "Not until I met you."

**Let's get out of this town tonight  
Nothing but dust in the shadows  
Gone by morning light  
Somewhere we won't ever get caught, ever be found  
Baby, let's just get out of this town**

Sarah rolls the window up and turns the air conditioning on high. The early evening is still hot, and there's a line of cars in front of them waiting to cross the border from Mexico into the United States. Heaving a sigh, Chuck settles back against the passenger's seat. He taps his toes agitatedly.

Sarah's question from the campfire in Moab still haunts him. It had been a wake up call. He hadn't realized until she'd spoken the words aloud just how much he wanted that future she sees, the one with the rings and the vows and the mortgage and the dog. He wants it all.

He just hasn't figure out a way to tell her that yet.

"You okay?" Sarah asks quietly, and he looks over to see a small smirk ghosting her lips.

"Yeah, fine," he replies, his voice strained.

But he's far from fine. The ring box in his pocket feels like it's burning a hole into his leg. It's been there for almost a week now, ever since Phoenix, where he had dragged himself away from her long enough to stop at a jewelers.

The problem is that no scenario he comes up with seems good enough. His spirits depress further with every proposal he rejects as too plain, too boring, too overdone. She deserves something spectacular, something that encapsulates their rollercoaster of a relationship.

Seeming to sense his agitation, Sarah slides her hand gently into his. She doesn't look at him, instead keeping her eyes trained on the bumper of the car in front of them, but the touch immediately calms him. Their fingers intertwine; the soft pad of her thumb brushes over the backs of his knuckles.

He reaches into his pocket, locates the box, and places it, with trembling fingers, onto the dashboard in between them.

Sarah doesn't react. Her gaze doesn't even stray from the bumper.

He lets a minute go by before he pulls at his collar, unable to stand the atmosphere in the car. "Aren't you going to say anything?" he breathes.

"Aren't you going to ask me?" she retorts playfully.

Chuck smirks. "It was implied in the gesture. Now answer the question."

Sarah slides her hands around his neck and pulls him down towards her to brush her lips over his. A cacophony of car horns blares around them, and he's dimly aware that they're holding up the line.

But over the noise, he hears her murmur against his lips, "Yes, Chuck." She giggles. "I was wondering how long it'd take you."

Astonished, he pulls away and looks at her in wide-eyed surprise.

"We've wasted so much time already," she explains, still smiling.

"Why didn't you just ask me yourself?" he asks as she slowly pulls the car forward in line.

Sarah shrugs. "I didn't want to ask you before you were ready."

Chuck relaxes again against the seat. He chuckles at the irony. After spending two years waiting for Sarah to catch up to him, she was the one worried about him not being ready.

"What?" she enquires with a smile.

"Is that what this whole trip was about?" he asks. "Your plan was to whisk me away for six weeks in the hopes that I'd propose at the end of them?"

To his surprise, she doesn't laugh. Instead, her lips turn downward in the slightest of frowns and she responds, "It's even more selfish than that. You've been so open with me, from the very first day we met." She swallows, turns her eyes to his. "I wanted to do the same. I want you to know me."

Chuck has an overwhelming desire to whoop and holler, but he contains himself and merely grins. He slides his hand back into hers. "Sarah, I do know you." Leaning close, he drops his voice and says, "And the woman I see? Is _awesome_."

Sarah bursts into laughter and smacks him on the shoulder. "You're horrible!" she tells him, sounding not-quite-convincing.

"Yeah," he concedes, "and now you're stuck with me!"

**If we leave tonight and drive fast enough  
All of our troubles will be just like us  
Long gone, baby**

"Come on, Ellie," Chuck pleads, struggling to extricate himself from her tight hug. "I can't feel my fingers."

Ellie laughs and releases him, her eyes shining with unshed tears. "You take good care of that brand-new wife of yours, okay?" she says.

He follows her gaze toward Sarah, who stands a few feet away next to a beaming Devon. Holding his hand out to her, he answers, "I'll do my best, but honestly, I think she'll be the one taking care of me."

Chuckling, Sarah falls into his embrace and leans up on her tiptoes to press a short kiss to his lips. "Don't worry, Ellie," she says sincerely, "I'll protect him."

"As long as you both come home safely," Ellie implores as she wraps them both in another hug. "I know you're going off on an adventure and it's exciting, but don't forget that you have people at home who care about you." Hugging her torso, she takes a deep breath. "Okay, I'm done with my lecture now."

Chuck laughs. "But seriously, El," he says, "thank you."

He shares a look with his older sister, a look full of memories, of new frontiers.

Full of gratitude.

"Babe," Devon intones, clapping Chuck and Sarah on the shoulders, "they're going to be fine. Lots of people backpack through Europe. Besides, Chuck will call you every day to let you know they're okay."

"Every other day," Sarah corrects with a smile. "This is our honeymoon, after all."

"That's what I like to hear, Sarah," Devon laughs.

Their flight is called, and Chuck shoulders his carry-on with a sad smile. "We should get going," he says to no one in particular.

Ellie takes him by the shoulders and turns him to face her. "Hey," she says forcefully, "I'm proud of you, little brother."

He nods, offering her one last smile before turning to go. Sarah slides her hand into his as they walk across the terminal.

"Chuck, Sarah!"

They stop and look over their shoulders expectantly.

Ellie inhales shakily, her shoulders shuddering with the effort of holding back tears. "Love you," she mouths.

"Love you, too, sis."

"Love you, too, El."

With that, Chuck and Sarah resume walking, and even with all he's been through over the past two years, Chuck feels like his journey's just beginning.

**Let's get out of this town tonight  
Nothing but dust in the shadows  
Gone by morning light  
Somewhere we won't ever get caught, ever be found yeah**

The terminal is brightly lit and buzzing with people coming and going. Chuck watches them as they walk by, dragging luggage or, in some cases, little children behind them. In the six months they've been traveling, he's gotten used to airports, likes them even. He likes passing time in them, likes sitting beside Sarah and watching the other passengers while she buries her nose in a book.

He scratches his chin, still slightly surprised to feel the growth of his beard. Sarah had encouraged him to grow it out, teasing him and saying it made him look 'rugged' and 'exciting'. But just the fact that _she_ likes it makes _him_ kind of like it, so he thinks he'll keep it, if only just for a while.

"We should tell Ellie we're coming home," Sarah tells him as she closes her book. Startled out of his thoughts, he stops stroking his beard and looks over at her. She smirks and asks, "Do you want to call or should I?"

"We have time," he shrugs. "The flight's like, thirty hours."

Sarah rolls her eyes. "Fifteen. I can call her if you want."

"I've got a better idea," he grins.

Sarah watches him suspiciously as he takes out his phone and starts tapping away at the keys, but he playfully leans over the screen to block it from her view.

"There!" he exclaims exultantly, holding the phone toward her so she can read a text message that says:

_Coming home. Finally ready to settle down. Sarah's pregnant._

Her eyes widen in disbelief. "Ellie's going to be livid that we're not telling her in person."

Chuck laughs and slides an arm around her waist. "Relax. She'll be so deliriously happy she won't even remember to scold us when we get back."

Sarah contemplates that for a moment before leaning into him and admitting, "She's not the only one who's deliriously happy."

Grinning widely, he wraps his other arm around her and kisses her hair. He gives her a squeeze. "I'm happy, too, Sarah."

She pulls back to push his shoulder teasingly. "Who are you trying to kid? You're beyond happy."

"You're right," he concedes with a delighted laugh. "I'm ecstatic."

She leans back into his shoulder, and they settle back against the terminal chairs.

A few minutes later, he says, "Since our child was conceived in Australia, does that make him or her Australian? I think that'd be pretty cool. Our kid would be badass. Ooh, maybe we should give it an Australian name, like name it Sydney or something."

"Chuck."

"What?"

"Shut up and kiss me."

"As you wish, m'lady."

**Let's get out of this town tonight  
Let's get out of this town tonight  
Yeah, we won't ever get caught, ever be found  
Baby, let's just get out of this town**


	32. Home Sweet Home

Song: "Home Sweet Home," by Carrie Underwood (or Motley Crue).

A/N: This is a companion chapter to chapter 27, "Avalanche." You might think a certain scene is similar to a story I just posted, and yes, it is. I was doubly-inspired by a motorcycle conversation on FF. :)

Thanks to **GoldenGirl **for the beta!

* * *

Sarah grins, watching Chuck out of the corner of her eye. He's shifting from foot to foot, swallowing nervously, and his hand is moist in her own. She gives it a reassuring squeeze, her heart soaring as the metal of her ring presses into his fingers and reminds her just how lucky she is right now. She leans against the back wall of the elevator and watches as the floor number continues to climb. The elevator finally stops on the top floor and the doors slide open. Tugging gently on his hand, Sarah pulls Chuck out into the hallway and down towards their room. He stumbles slightly, tripping over his Converses, and she lets out a delighted laugh.

Their room's at the end of the hall, and Sarah makes quick work of the lock. She can feel Chuck behind her, his breaths coming heavily. Once inside, she flips on the light and pulls him towards her. Dragging him over to the bed, she gives him a soft, lingering kiss before placing her hand on his chest and pushing him backwards onto the mattress.

He swallows thickly and sits, speechless, a stunned expression on his face.

Sarah grins and takes a step backward. "You wait there," she tells him saucily. "I'm going to change into something a little more . . . appealing."

She heads toward the bathroom, picking up her bag on the way. There's a slinky black number in it that she's owned for over a year now, but hasn't had the opportunity to wear. She's owned it since her very first Valentine's Day with the Bartowskis, when Ellie had convinced her to buy it as a gift for Chuck while out shopping together. Their relationship hadn't been real then, but she had bought it anyways, bought it for the cover, bought it for the dream of passion it allowed her to have, however brief and flickering.

But now, a year and a half later, she finally has a reason to wear it. The thought makes her grin widen, makes her heart feel like it's about to spill over with happiness.

As she moves away, Chuck seems to snap out of his stupor. Jumping up, he catches her by the wrist just when she reaches the bathroom door. She turns in surprise, her blond hair swirling around, a few stray strands catching on her bottom lip.

"No," Chuck says gently.

She lifts an eyebrow and asks, "You don't want me to change into the lingerie I bought specifically for you?"

Smiling crookedly, he slides his arms around her waist and replies, "No. I want you just the way you are."

Her heart racing uncontrollably, Sarah presses a deep, desperate kiss to his lips.

The world seems to disappear around them, the lights of the city blurring into oblivion. Sarah Walker is used to confusion, to disorder, to danger; she's not used to letting her heart rule her head, to experiencing true, unadulterated bliss.

Sarah Bartowski, though, is kissing her husband of three hours, and the world feels absolutely right.

**You know I'm a dreamer  
But my heart's of gold  
****I had to run away high  
So I wouldn't come home low**

A few weeks after they're married, after the new Intersect goes online and Beckman officially discharges Chuck, Sarah starts noticing things. He works at his computer more, his brow drawn in concentration, and he constantly scribbles in a notebook, his wiry handwriting filling up page after page.

One day as he sits on the couch after dinner, laptop open, she saunters over behind the couch and leans over him, her arms wrapped around his shoulders.

"Working late?" she asks softly, her lips brushing against his cheek.

Chuck moves the computer off his lap. He twists to look at her and, with a small smile, replies, "Sort of."

She gives him a questioning look. "'Sort of'?"

"I've been thinking," he says seriously, shifting to face her. He takes one of her hands, and, recognizing that he needs to get something off his chest, she sits on the back of the couch. He sighs and continues, "With the Intersect out of my head, all I've got left is the Buy More. And that's not the life for me. I don't want to settle for that anymore."

Sarah lets a smile come to her lips. No, he deserves much more than what the Buy More can offer. But she lets him speak.

"In college," he tells her, "I always kind of tossed around the idea of starting a software company." He looks up at her expectantly.

"Chuck," she says, leaning forward to caress his cheek, "you can do anything, I believe that. If you want to start a company, start a company. I'll help you however I can, even if it's just being there for you when you get home from work and listening when you need to talk."

"Well," he swallows, "I've been . . . researching . . . whether or not it would be practical for me to start a company." He glances at her uncertainly. "Financially, I mean."

Sarah lets out a chuckle. "Is that what you're worried about? Chuck, it'll be fine."

She moves to get off the couch, but Chuck stops her, his hand still in hers. "Wait. Sarah, what are you talking about?"

Regarding him earnestly, she answers, "We have enough money."

"How do you know?"

"We're married now. What's mine is yours," she shrugs. "Why don't we go to the bank tomorrow and open up a joint account? That should help you get started."

A few nights later, they're relaxing on the couch, Chuck's legs stretched onto the coffee table, Sarah's over Chuck's. He sits with his computer again, the light from the screen illuminating his face in the dim room.

"Holy shit," he murmurs to himself.

Sarah looks up from her book, an eyebrow cocked in amusement. "What's the matter?"

"When did we get so much money?"

"I transferred some money to our joint account," she explains.

He stares at her. "When did _you_ get so much money?"

She chuckles. "I have a dangerous job. The government sees fit to amply repay me." After a pause, she adds, "And my dad set aside a little money to provide for me in case anything happened to him."

"A little?"

"Okay, a lot."

"Sarah," he begins, and she can tell she won't like what he's going to say next. "I can't take all this money."

"You're not taking it," she insists. "We're married now. This is a partnership. I'm helping you achieve your dreams. That's what marriage is all about, isn't it?" He hesitates still, and she leans in. "Chuck, I feel like I've held you back, like the life you've been living with me has held you back, and I want to make up for that. Surely you can understand that, can't you? How much a wife wants to see her husband happy?"

Chuck frowns thoughtfully for a moment before the corners of his mouth twitch upward. "You've done so much for me already, Sarah," he tells her quietly. "More than you'll ever know."

Smiling, Sarah runs her hands through his hair. "So what do you say? You'll let me help you?"

"Sure," he sighs, "but only if you do something for yourself with the money, too."

She lifts an eyebrow. "Such as?"

"I don't know," he shrugs. "Treat yourself to a spa weekend with Ellie or something. Or buy a new Porsche?"

"Now that's not a bad idea," she says, "but tell me, how do you feel about cats?"

**Just when things went right  
Doesn't mean they were always wrong****  
Just take this song and you'll never feel  
Left all alone**

Sarah watches him from the kitchen, glancing up every once in a while from mixing drinks to steal glimpses at him. He's lounging on the couch, his tie already loosened, a smile on his face as he chats animatedly with Anna and Ellie. She grins.

Devon, standing beside her at the counter, says, "Okay, Sarah, Morgan wants a mojito. . . . Sarah?"

"I'm sorry, what?"

He laughs. "It's okay." Tilting his head toward the living room, he says, "You can go in there if you want, you know. You don't have to make all the drinks with me."

"No, no, no," she insists, turning her attention back to the alcohol and mixers spread out on the counter, "I want to." Devon cocks an eyebrow. She scoffs playfully. "It's our first Christmas together. Married, I mean. I'm just . . . I'm excited."

Grinning, he slides an arm around her shoulders and gives her a squeeze. "Don't worry, sis. I'll make sure you get some alone time after dinner."

"Thanks, Devon."

"Yo, Morg!" he calls as he turns around. "Your drink's ready!"

Morgan walks into the kitchen just as Devon walks out, heading outside to retrieve an extra bottle of rum from his car.

"Sarah!" Morgan greets with a smile.

"Hey, Morgan. How are you?"

"I'm great. I feel like I haven't talked to you very much lately."

"I know. Work's been crazy."

"I bet."

"How's work for you?" She can only imagine how much he loves working with Chuck.

"You know, it's going," he smiles. "Some days are tougher than others, especially when Chuck gets down, but . . . I think we'll produce some results before too long."

"Wait," Sarah says, her heart rate climbing as she catches on to what he's said, "what do you mean when Chuck gets down?"

"Oh, I just meant that . . . you're gone a lot, and sometimes he gets . . . a little down in the dumps."

Staggered, Sarah leans back against the counter for support. Morgan, watching her, takes a sip of his mojito.

"He just misses you," he says. "That's all."

She grimaces. "I didn't realize it was so bad though."

Smiling supportively, Morgan sidles up next to her. "Hey," he says in a gentle voice, "there's nothing to worry about, okay? Look at him out there." He tilts his head toward the living room. "He's happy." He turns to Sarah and tells her emphatically, "And you should be, too. It's Christmas for Pete's sake!"

In spite of the news he's delivered, Sarah's charmed by her friend, and she embraces him with a grateful laugh. "Thank you, Morgan. What would Chuck and I do without you?"

"Please, Sarah," he jokes as he walks back toward the living room, "don't even pretend that you guys could get along without me."

Morgan disappears through the doorway with a wave, leaving the laugh still on her lips. After dinner, Sarah snags her husband away from the crowd and the conversation and drags him out onto the back porch. She leans against the porch railing, pulling him against her.

Chuckling, he leans down and captures her lips with his own. "Merry Christmas to you, too," he smiles, brushing his thumb against her jaw.

She snakes her arms around his waist. "Does it bother you that I'm gone a lot?"

Surprised by the turn in the conversation, Chuck pulls back slightly to gaze at her. "Where's this coming from?"

Shrugging, she admits, "I had a little chat with Morgan."

"Sarah," he sighs, pressing his forehead to hers.

"What is it? You can tell me the truth."

He caresses her cheek. "Sarah, you love your career. I'd never take that away from you."

It's strange, she realizes, how the word 'love' can be used in so many different contexts. She does love her job. She's loved it since she was eighteen years old and it breathed new life into her. But she doesn't love it like she loves the man standing in front of her.

Yes, she loves her job, but she'd give up her final breath for this man.

Surely that's no comparison.

Chuck calls her name, and she realizes she's been staring off into the night.

Standing on her tiptoes, she brushes her lips against his. "This isn't forever, you know," she whispers.

Chuck smiles, a bright smile that lights up the dark winter night. "That's why I'll wait."

**Take me to your heart  
Feel me in your bones  
Just one more night****  
And I'm comin' off this  
Long and winding road**

The house is dark and silent when Sarah creeps through the door. She quietly deposits her bag in the hallway before tiptoeing upstairs and into the bedroom. Chuck's slumbering peacefully, unsurprising since the clock on the bedside table proclaims that it's past three in the morning. Still on Angolan time, Sarah's not tired at all. She leans over her husband, gently brushes back his curls, and places a soft kiss on his forehead before returning to the kitchen.

Moving noiselessly, she retrieves a pot from the cabinet and pours a few cups of water into it. As she puts it on the stove to boil, she hears the padding of footsteps. Chuck is standing in the doorway when she turns around, Mr. Bubbles at his feet.

He smiles sleepily, runs a hand through his hair. "Hot chocolate?" She nods. It's become a tradition when she returns from a mission. Stifling a yawn, he says, "I hope you made enough for two."

"Sorry to wake you," she tells him with a regretful smile.

"I'm glad you did, even if it was accidental." Stepping toward her, Chuck takes her chin between his thumb and forefinger to scrutinize her appearance. "How are you?" he asks suspiciously.

"I'm fine, Chuck," she answers with faint exasperation. "No injuries."

"You're sure?"

"Positive."

At her response, he grins and wraps her in a tight hug. Sarah laughs against his chest, the sound muffled in his t-shirt.

"Are you hungry?" she asks.

Chuck pulls away, a look of incredulity on his face. "Are you kidding me? Sarah, it's 3:30 in the morning."

She shrugs out of his embrace. "Jet lag. I'm going to make some pancakes. Want some?"

He chuckles and concedes, "I suppose . . . if you're making them."

He takes care of the hot chocolate while she prepares the pancake batter. Mr. Bubbles, mewing happily, hops up onto a kitchen chair to watch them.

As the skillet warms up, crackling with heat, Sarah says, "Tell me what I've missed."

The request is not an unusual one. Whenever she returns from a mission, she makes the hot chocolate and he catches her up on what's happened while she's been gone. He never tells her about politics, or national news. It's always that the neighbors got a new dog, or that he hung out with Awesome the other night at a karaoke bar. Things that she cares most about, things that make her miss her life with him even more.

"Well," Chuck begins after taking a sip of hot chocolate, "and somehow I don't think this will surprise you at all, but Morgan set up a practice range for ninja throwing stars in the office last week."

Sarah laughs delightedly. "No way! Are they real?"

"The throwing stars? Oh, yeah! He's not very good and I got nipped by one the first day. He uses them as often as he can, for ridiculous things like cutting bagels and pinning posters to the bulletin board."

"And how does Anna feel about this?"

"That's why he brought them to the office in the first place," Chuck laughs. "Apparently he was destroying the garage, so Anna made him find someplace else to practice."

"So he brought deadly weapons that he has no idea how to use to work?"

Chuck grins. "Maybe you could give him lessons."

Smirking, Sarah flips the pancake. "I love Morgan, Chuck, I do, but if I had to endure a throwing star lesson with him, I think I'd throw one into my own foot."

Chuck lets out a soft laugh. "I'll tell him to stay away from you."

"Thanks," she replies with a smile. "And tell him it's nothing personal."

She scoops the pancake out of the skillet and onto a plate and takes it over to him at the kitchen table. The heart-shaped pancake she had attempted to make for him is a little wonky, but she can tell he knows what it is from the lopsided smile on his face. He waits to eat it until she cooks herself one and sits down beside him.

They eat in silence for a moment, until Sarah bumps Chuck's shoulder with a smirk. Smiling, he offers her a bite of his pancake, which she accepts straight from his outstretched fork.

"I've missed you," she tells him softly.

"And I," he replies, "have missed your cooking."

Laughing, Sarah smacks him lightly on the shoulder and steals another piece of his pancake.

"Hey," he protests, parrying her fork with his, "you have your own."

"Yours tastes better," she replies with a smile.

Chuck inclines his head toward her. "Is that so?"

She starts to respond, but before she can get the words out, he's already captured her lips in his own. She slides a hand into his hair, the familiar curls soft against her fingertips.

"I'm glad you came home," he whispers.

She sighs contentedly against his lips. "I'll always come home to you."

**I'm on my way, I'm on my way  
Home Sweet Home  
Tonight, tonight  
I'm on my way, I'm on my way  
Home sweet home**

Sarah treads water and looks toward the horizon. She's been swimming for close to an hour now, the exhaustion cutting into her muscles like razor blades. She can't see land anymore, and her rescue boat's no where in sight.

Closing her eyes in frustration, she runs a hand through her wet hair. Images of Chuck, of Evie, inundate her mind. Chuck with his lopsided smile, Evie giggling in her Uncle Casey's arms, the two of them napping on the couch together.

Her heart sinks into her feet. If she doesn't make it out of here alive, she'll never see them again.

She lives for them, for only them, and she resumes swimming with fierce determination. She'll get home to them or die trying.

Before she's swum another ten yards, she hears the familiar roar of a boat engine, and sure enough, a small speedboat comes jetting over the horizon, Carina at the helm.

Carina, wearing a yellow bikini and over-sized sunglasses, drives the boat close to Sarah and kills the engine. Sarah swims to the side, accepting her colleague's help in climbing over the side of the boat.

Grabbing the towel sitting on the deck and catching her breath, Sarah asks, "What took you so long?"

Carina shrugs. "I couldn't find a speedboat I really liked."

Sarah scowls and wrings her soaking hair out, the excess water dripping onto the deck at her feet. "I thought you weren't coming," she accuses.

"Come on, Sarah," the DEA agent says almost sincerely, "have I ever let you down?"

She rolls her eyes. "I suppose not."

Carina indicates the pile of dry clothes in the corner before restarting the boat and high-tailing it away. Sarah lurches at the boat crests over the waves, but she quickly regains her footing and starts to change. In addition to dry underwear, Carina's brought her a pair of khaki shorts and a black tank top. She sheds her sopping clothes for these new ones, careful to keep the microchip she'd came to this country for in its dry bag. She towels her hair dry as best she can and pulls it back into a ponytail.

She settles down next to Carina, who hands her a roast beef sandwich.

"You haven't been to visit us in a while, you know," Sarah tells her matter-of-factly.

Carina laughs. "If you want me to visit the little tyke you should just say so."

"Fine," Sarah relents with a smirk. "I want you to meet her."

"Did you name her after me?"

"No, we named her Evelyn."

Carina's eyes take on a distant look. She had known Sarah's mother, practically been raised by her. After her untimely death when Sarah was nine, the two girls were separated when Sarah's father lapsed into his old ways and moved them halfway across the country for another con.

"Good," the redhead says quietly, her voice cracking slightly. "That's a good name."

"I thought you'd like it," Sarah responds.

"So how old is she now?"

"Seven months."

"Seven months?" Carina questions incredulously. "And you're out here in the middle of the ocean instead of finding out whether she prefers peas to carrots or something? How many missions have you been on since she was born?"

"This is only my second," Sarah protests with a glare. Of all the people to be lectured by . . .

"I know you, Sarah, but I never expected that."

Sarah sits up, staring challengingly at her friend. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

Carina sighs as if she's well aware of the irony in the situation, well aware that Sarah should be the one counseling her. "It means you have a loving husband and an adorable daughter at home," she says, "and you can't seem to stop risking your life."

"It's not like that . . ." Sarah protests weakly.

"Is it Chuck?"

"Of course not!" she retorts sharply, eyebrows drawn. In a more subdued voice, she says, "I'm . . . I'm trying to keep them safe. I don't want my daughter to have to grow up in a world like I did, with pain and fear and danger."

"Okay, fair enough," Carina admits. "But I think it's something more than that."

"Just let it go, Carina." Sarah returns her attention to her lunch and stares out at the water rushing past them.

But Carina won't give it up.

"I'm your friend, Sarah," she insists. "I care about you. Believe it or not, I care about Chuck too. If you don't trust him for some reason – "

"It's not Chuck. Chuck's perfect." Her voice has dropped to a murmur, barely audible over the engine.

"Then what is it? You're the most sensible person I know, and sometimes that drives me insane, but right now, you're barely making sense."

Sighing, Sarah folds her arms across her abdomen. "My life with him is amazing," she confides quietly, "a thousand times more so than anything I could endeavor to deserve. I was never able to hang on to happiness, but Chuck makes me happier than I've ever been before." She swallows. "I don't trust myself to not screw that up."

Carina's expression softens. "Why would you think you're going to screw it up?"

Sarah keeps her eyes trained on the boat deck. "It's just . . . hard, you know?" she begins ineloquently. "Having this little person depend on you, look up to you." She looks up to meet her friend's eye and says softly, "It's terrifying."

"So, how does going on missions help that?"

Sarah takes a deep breath. "I know what I'm doing in this world. There's no second-guessing myself, no wondering whether I'm muddling through or completely screwing up or . . . "

"I guess raising a kid's a little out of the comfort zone," Carina offers.

"Just a little."

"Well, you know," Carina says, a sincere smile on her face, "you weren't great at this when you started, either." Rather than be affronted, Sarah takes a moment to recognize the truth behind her words. Carina continues, "Running away isn't going to make it easier."

"I'm not running," Sarah protests quietly. "But what if, one day, he wakes up and realizes he deserves so much better? He deserves a wife who actually knows what she's doing?"

Carina laughs, and Sarah looks at her sharply.

"Come on, Sarah," the redhead says, "I know Chuck adores you, but he harbors no illusions about your domestic abilities."

Despite her foul mood, Sarah starts to calm down. The corners of her mouth twitch up. "Please," she says, "Chuck _loves_ my cooking."

"I'm sure he does," Carina chuckles. "Which is why, I think you would agree, you can absolutely do this, Sarah. I've seen you put your mind to things and excel at them out of sheer determination." She offers a smile. "You know what I think?"

Sarah leans back, tilts her face toward the dazzling sun. "What do you think, Carina?"

"I think you and Chuck are perfect together. And nothing you do is gonna change that."

"Thanks, Carina," Sarah smiles. "I really needed someone to talk to."

Carina glances over, her eyes sparkling. "You know, I believe I am overdue for a visit."

"You could always come back to L.A. with me. I know Chuck'll be glad to see you."

"Yeah," Carina agrees with a smile, "I'd like that."

**You know that I've seen****  
Too many romantic dreams  
Up in lights, falling off the silver screen**

Sarah loves Saturday mornings. She loves waking up to the smell of brewing coffee, loves padding down to the kitchen to find Chuck and Evie at the breakfast table, eating cereal side by side. Evie's nineteen months now, her hair falling in light brown tendrils around her cheeks. She loves piling into the car (a sensible sedan, though she still has her Porsche) and driving to the park.

They walk hand-in-hand, Evie in the middle, and Sarah's almost staggered by the normalcy of the scene. She's worked so hard to keep them safe, to protect them from the horrific things she's seen. After so many years of sacrifice, she thinks she deserves mornings like this, mornings full of laughter and fresh air.

Evie drops her parents' hands, runs towards the swings, and hops onto one, looking back and giggling excitedly as she waits for them to catch up. Sarah and Chuck connect hands and meander towards the swing set.

"Your turn to push," Chuck informs her with a smirk.

"No way! I pushed last time," she laughs, even though she doesn't mind at all.

"I don't recall."

"Well, obviously there's only one way to settle this."

Smirking, Chuck lifts his fist and blows on his knuckles. "Of course. You ready?"

She narrows her brows and squares her shoulders. "I'm always ready."

"One, two, three," they say together, shaking their fists as they chant.

"Shoot!"

She holds her thumb and fingers close together in the shape of a lizard but grimaces playfully when she sees what he's thrown down.

He _always_ plays Spock. She had banked on that and played lizard to counter it. It hadn't occurred to her that he'd so drastically change his routine and play scissors.

"Ooh," he teases, "looks like I outsmarted you!"

Evie giggles, delighted with the exchange, and Sarah, sticking her tongue out at him, pushes him into the next swing. He collapses with a laugh, clutching onto the side chains.

"I'll push her next time," he concedes.

Sarah smiles. She really doesn't mind it, but she appreciates the offer all the same. Evie looks up expectantly, and she starts to gently push the swing. Evie giggles as she glides through the air, her curls bouncing in the wind. Chuck swings beside her, his long frame dwarfing that of his daughter.

And Sarah, contemplating these two great loves of her life, is left to wonder how she got so lucky.

They spoil her, this daughter of theirs. After spending hours at the playground, they stop at a kiosk and buy a soft pretzel that's larger than her head, one that takes all three of them to finish. After that, they take her to the zoo, where Chuck lifts her onto his shoulders and insists on buying her a stuffed tiger, which she promptly names Spock. The zoo delights her no matter how many times she goes, and she finds a new favorite animal with every trip.

She falls asleep on the car ride home, her head pillowed against Spock's fluffy body, but she wakes up enough when they arrive at home to insist on staying with mommy as she cooks dinner. So Chuck grins, lifts her into his arms, and carries her into the kitchen. He sets her up at the table with a coloring book before walking to Sarah's side.

Sarah places her hands on his chest and leans in to give him a soft, lingering kiss. "Why don't we just order takeout?"

"Sounds good to me."

Sarah settles down beside their daughter while Chuck orders Chinese. Evie must be exhausted, because she only made it through half a page before falling back asleep. Her cheek rests against the table, the coloring book and a few crayons pressed between. Chuckling quietly, Sarah brushes her daughter's hair back before scooping her up. She heads toward her bedroom, meeting Chuck as he comes down the steps.

"Oh, hey," he says, "want me to take her?"

"No," she waves him off, "I can handle it."

He nods, and she continues up the stairs. She carries Evie to her bedroom, a bright, welcoming room splashed with yellow paint and decorated with murals of Dr. Seuss characters and creations.

She lays her daughter down, tucks her in, and sits down beside her small body. She smiles, reveling in the perfection radiating off this little girl. She's tiny, and bubbly, and all _hers_. Sighing, Sarah leans down to place a soft kiss against Evie's forehead.

"I love you, baby girl," she whispers. "You're aces."

And, with one last glance, she returns to her husband downstairs. They curl up together on the couch with take-out and a movie, Mr. Bubbles on Sarah's lap, and time slows down for them. There's no pending mission, no threat looming over their heads. It's just them.

Sarah leans her head against Chuck's shoulder as he winds his arm around her, and she knows there's no place she'd rather be.

**My heart's like an open book****  
For the whole world to read  
Sometimes nothing keeps me together at the seams**

"You ready?" Sarah asks her daughter.

Evie, sitting in the bathtub, nods.

"All right, close your eyes," Sarah tells her.

Evie obliges obediently, and Sarah squirts a dollop of shampoo into her palm before washing her daughter's curls. She scrubs gently, careful that the shampoo doesn't get into Evie's eyes.

"So did you have a good birthday?" she asks.

Evie nods enthusiastically.

"Do you feel old?"

She shakes her head, grinning. "No!"

"Of course not. Silly question," Sarah laughs. "Time to rinse. Lean your head back." Evie closes her eyes and looks up at the ceiling as Sarah washes the soap from her hair. "Did you get everything you wished for?"

"Uh-huh."

"What was your favorite present?"

"You and Daddy."

Sarah gazes at her daughter in wonder. "What do you mean, sweetie?"

"He's sad when you leave."

The statement is so simple, so unassuming, but it shakes Sarah to the core. She swallows and brushes a wet curl off of Evie's forehead. "What about you?" she asks. "Are you sad, too?"

Evie frowns thoughtfully. "Mmm-hmm," she nods. "But Daddy says you wouldn't go if you didn't have to."

Sarah helps her daughter stand up and wraps a towel around her. "I wouldn't," she promises, brushing her thumb across her cheek. "You know how much I love you, right?"

Smiling, Evie pulls the towel around herself. "Uh-huh."

"Good." Helping her into her PJs, she says, "You know, I have one last surprise for you. How would you like to be a big sister?"

Evie's eyes widen in delight. "I'm going to have a little brother?"

"Well, or a little sister. Do you think you'll like that?"

Evie throws her arms around Sarah's neck. "I think that's the bestest present of all!" She leans her head in and whispers in her mother's ear, "But I still think I need a brother."

"Okay, well, I'll see what I can do," Sarah laughs, scooping her daughter into her arms. "Come on. Let's dry your hair and get you tucked in."

She carries her to the bedroom and folds down the covers. Evie scampers under them.

"Mommy?"

"Yeah, sweetie?"

"Will you read me a story?"

"Of course," Sarah replies and settles herself against the headboard while Evie chooses a book. She picks _Go, Dog, Go_, a classic, but after the day's festivities, the two-year-old is exhausted. She's asleep before the end of the book, but Sarah finishes reading anyway. Closing the book, she places it on the bedside table. She draws the sheets up to Evie's chin, presses a soft kiss to her forehead, and tiptoes out of the room, shutting off the light as she goes.

She finds Chuck in the living room, exhausted from the day. She lies against his chest, listening to his steady heartbeat as he strokes her hair. The clock strikes eleven, and Sarah is struck by a sudden impulse. Pulling him up from the couch, she drags him toward the front door.

"Wait," he says quietly, "where are we going?"

"For a ride."

Chuck pauses in the hallway and leans against the wall, pulling her against him. "Sarah, we can't leave. What about Evie?"

"Relax, Casey's in the guest bedroom. I'll go tell him we're stepping out for an hour or so."

She turns to go, but he stops her with a tug on the hand.

"But where are we going?" he questions.

"I just want to go for a ride," she shrugs. He frowns, holding her gaze, and she asks, "What's the matter, Chuck?"

"You've been home for what? Eight, nine hours? Don't you want to spend time with me?"

Sarah sighs and moves closer to him. "Of course I do. But we can lie on the couch any day." She twirls her fingers into his hair. "It's a gorgeous night, and I'd like to go for a ride, _with you_. So humor me for an hour, and then we can come back and I can show you just how happy I am to be home?" Grinning, she places a soft kiss on his lips.

Chuck smiles and lets go of her hand, and she goes to inform Casey of their plan. When she meets Chuck in the front of the house five minutes later, he's sitting on the stoop, his chin resting in his hands. The motorcycle she'd driven home is still parked in the driveway, gleaming in the moonlight. Sarah bypasses Chuck and walks toward it, swinging her leg over the side.

Chuck stands. "Oh, no way."

"Come on," she coaxes, patting the side of the bike.

"What about your Porsche? Can't we take that? You know, top rolled down, wind in our hair, we love that."

"We take the Porsche all the time. Let's try something new."

Chuck shakes his head vehemently. "Uh-uh."

"Why not?" she grins.

"Because I'll kill myself!"

"I highly doubt that," she says as she hands him a helmet, which he takes reluctantly.

"We've been married for four years now, Sarah. You're obviously familiar with my lack of coordination."

Sarah gazes at him and softly asks, "You trust me, right?"

Chuck smiles. "Of course."

"I won't let anything happen to you."

Shaking his head, he puts on the helmet and slides behind her onto the bike. His arms perfectly encompass her waist, and, after so many weeks apart, she loves the reassurance of how well they fit together.

Putting on her helmet, she asks, "You ready?"

"As ready as I'll ever be."

She chuckles and guns the engine, pulling out of the driveway. As she turns onto the street, she leans into the wind, and Chuck leans into her. She escalates the speed, enticed by the feeling of the fresh air rushing past, tempted by the increasing pressure of Chuck's arms around her.

As much as she's missed him, sometimes, they don't have to talk. It's just enough to be with him. Tonight, Sarah has the moonlight, and silence, and him.

Tonight, that's all she needs.

**I'm on my way, I'm on my way  
Home sweet home  
Tonight, tonight  
****I'm on my way, just set me free  
Home sweet home**

"Honey! Do you know where the extra hamburger buns are?"

Sarah stops short as she walks into the kitchen, bouncing her seven-month-old son, Noah, on her hip. Ellie is starting to look frazzled, a few strands of hair coming loose from her ponytail as she rummages through the pantry.

"Everything all right, El?" Sarah asks.

Ellie looks up sharply, her glance softening when she sees her sister-in-law and nephew. "Sarah," she breathes, "thank God you're here. Have you seen Devon? Have you seen the hamburger buns?"

Sarah laughs. "Ellie, calm down. Let me just put this little guy down for a nap and I'll be right back to help, okay?"

Ellie nods. "Thank you."

Still smiling, Sarah leaves to lay Noah down in the nursery. When she returns to the kitchen, she shoves Ellie out the door with the order to "enjoy herself." With Ellie outside, Sarah quickly locates the extra buns, which she takes outside to Devon and Morgan stationed at the grill.

On her way back to the house, Sarah catches sight of her husband's curly hair. He's in the yard, laughing as he pushes Evan on the tire swing and Evie waits patiently for her turn.

Sarah stops, feeling as if her world has suddenly become clear. All her life, she's been chasing something, something that's been right in front of her for the past six years and she hasn't even realized it.

It's in the sheer pleasure that accompanies a family picnic. It's in an afternoon spent at the park. It's in lying next to the man you love at night, his arms around you. It's in seeing smiles on your children's faces the first thing in the morning.

It's in the laughter that comes as a father pushes his daughter and her cousin on a tire swing.

How much of that has she missed? Sure, she's always gotten home in time for the big events, but how many little moments has she missed? How many blink-and-you-might-miss-them moments has she overlooked because of mistaken priorities?

She smiles as she watches her family, and she knows suddenly, beyond a doubt that she doesn't need anything else, not her job, not the agency. She just wonders why it's taken her so long to figure it out.

Chuck turns and catches her eye. He doesn't say anything, but holds her gaze with a smile as he continues to push the swing. She walks over.

"Aunt Sarah!" Evan cries, waving as the swing flies by her.

"Hiya, kiddo." Sarah looks down at her daughter and runs a hand through her fly-away curls. "Hey to you, too, munchkin. You guys ready to eat?"

The three-year-olds squeal in delight. Chuck slows the swing down so Evan can hop off, and the cousins run off toward the patio. Sarah sighs, watching them go. She turns back to see Chuck hanging onto the rope of the tire swing. Smiling, she reaches out for his hand.

"I love you, you know," she says quietly.

He grins. "I know." They're quiet for a moment, before he asks, "So what's on your mind?"

"How'd you know?"

Shrugging, he replies, "I always know."

Sarah walks around the swing and places her hands on his chest. "I'm done," she whispers.

"With what, Sarah?" he coaxes softly.

She takes a deep breath, inhaling his familiar scent. "Don't you think I've put you through enough, Chuck? You've been so patient with me. But I'm not going to miss another precious moment because of some blind devotion to my job."

Chuck laughs quietly before kissing her.

"You don't seem very surprised," she accuses playfully.

He shrugs, sliding his arms around her. "I knew it'd happen eventually. And just in case you're wondering, the wait was very worth it."

She smiles. "I'm glad. But for what it's worth, I'm sorry, for making you put up with this for six years."

"I'm not," he says, shaking his head. "The CIA is a part of you, Sarah. I was never going to make you give it up, never going to make you choose."

She presses a kiss to his lips. "That's why I love you."

"Come on," he urges as he pulls her towards the patio. "Everyone's waiting for us."

As they join the rest of their family, Sarah knows she's come home to stay.

**Ouuuh  
I'm on my way, I'm on my way  
Home sweet home  
Yeaaaah****  
I'm on my way, just set me free  
Home sweet home**


	33. Something to Talk About

Song: "Something to Talk About," Bonnie Raitt

A/N: This is slightly rushed, because **FL **convinced me to post something in time for someone's special day. :) It's unbeta-ed, so I take full responsibility for all mistakes and bits of stupidity. Also, this is seriously AU. Imagine if Chuck had graduated from Stanford and Sarah had never joined the CIA. That's how AU it is. But it's still Charah. :)

In other news, Happy Birthday to Zachary Levi! He's part of the reason we're all so enamored of this show, so hopefully he's having a great birthday. And we wish him luck as he and the rest of the cast continue shooting the new season. :D

* * *

Chuck sits with a chagrined blush on his face as the living room erupts in laughter.

"All right, all right!" he says, chuckling despite himself. "How about we talk about something _other_ than how clumsy I was as a child?"

"Oh, come on, Chuck," Sarah laughs, her face lit up with a grin. "You know those are my favorite kinds of stories."

"Just wait 'til she gets out the baby book, Chuckster," Devon booms.

"Okay, okay," Ellie concedes, her laughter fading. "I won't embarrass you anymore, little brother."

"Yeah, yeah," he says with an exaggerated eye roll. He gets to his feet, clears the dessert dishes from the coffee table before taking them to the kitchen, where he's promptly joined by Sarah.

"I thought I'd help you with the dishes," she tells him with a smile as she strolls to the counter and picks up a towel.

Playfully, he swipes the towel from her hands. "You don't have to do that."

"I know," she says, stealing the towel back, "but I want to. Besides, Ellie cooked dinner. It's only fair that I should help clean up."

Chuck smiles and starts washing. "Well, thanks, Sarah. I appreciate the company."

"So," she begins as she dries a plate, "have you read that book I gave you last week?"

Chuck squirms slightly under her gaze. "_Pride and Prejudice_? Erm, yeah. I started it."

"'Started it'?" she laughs.

"You know," he replies, his smile growing, "I'm a few chapters in. But I'll finish it! I swear!"

Drying a glass, she grins and bumps his shoulder. "Okay, mister."

When they're finished with the dishes, Chuck sends Sarah back out to the living room with another bottle of wine. He dries his hands, and Sarah's quickly replaced by Ellie, who leans against the counter, her arms crossed, to scrutinize her brother.

"What?" he asks, his eyes narrowed in suspicion, because it's Ellie, and he can tell when she has something up her sleeve.

She shrugs. "We were just talking about Bryce's party."

"What about it?"

"Who are you going to take?" Ellie asks, trying to hide her curiosity.

Chuck leans against the counter next to her. "Why do I have to take anyone?"

"Come on, Chuck," she replies, "you know what Bryce's parties are like. If you don't have a date, women will accost you all night. Do you really want to be that uncomfortable?"

He frowns. "What are you cooking up, El?"

Ellie looks out into the living room, a sly smile on her face. "I think you should take Sarah."

He chuckles. "What?"

"Oh, come on. You've been best friends for years now. You'll have fun together."

Chuck contemplates that quietly. He should be protesting that they're just friends, but instead he finds himself thinking of the day they met.

She'd just gotten back from a year in Europe and was itching to do something different; he was looking to find enough staff to get his company off the ground without completely bankrupting himself.

She walked into the rundown backroom of a bakery that served as his temporary office, blond hair pulled back into a ponytail, eyes bright and alert. But what captured him was her smile.

She was magnificently over-qualified and way too charming to want to work for him, and he fretted the entire interview, his palms moist and his mouth dry. Her friendly demeanor only got friendlier the more she learned about him and the company. The interview slowly morphed into a conversation between two very different people strangely drawn to one another, and by the time the meeting ended, Chuck was convinced she was the only acceptable candidate.

He hesitated though, because he was certain a guy like him could never offer anything worthwhile to a woman like her. He walked her to her car, working up his courage along the way, and finally offered only when she was safely buckled in, only when the car provided a physical barrier to the inevitable rejection.

But she said 'yes' with that smile of hers, reported to work the next day, and quickly became an integral piece of the puzzle. Within two months, the two of them transformed N.E.R.D. Games into a serious contender. They moved to a nicer, more spacious office, which Sarah had insisted on decorating and painting herself. (He'd helped, of course.)

Within four months, she was a frequent visitor to the Bartowski household.

Within six, she was his best friend.

Which is why asking her to a party as formal as Bryce's, even if it weren't strictly a date, _should_ be weird. But the fact that it doesn't feel weird at all to Chuck gives him pause. He sighs, staring at Sarah through the window between the living room and the kitchen.

"Well?" Ellie urges, elbowing him gently.

"Well, what?"

She lifts her eyebrows. "What do you think?"

"About what?" he responds, still feigning ignorance.

"Come on," Ellie laughs. "Are you going to ask her or not?"

Smiling, Chuck stands up straight and smoothes his shirt. He holds out his arms. "How do I look?"

"Fine, you look great. Amazing." Ellie beams, pushing him out of the kitchen.

As Chuck stumbles into the living room, he notices Sarah by the doorway, her jacket folded over her arm.

"You're leaving already?" he asks her.

She looks up with a soft smile. "It's getting kind of late," she explains, "and we do have that big meeting with the Buy More Corporation tomorrow morning."

"Right," he nods, suddenly irritated that they have to work the next day. "Well, at least let me walk you home."

"Chuck, you don't have to do that."

"I want to."

"Really, it's only a few blocks."

Smiling, he takes her jacket and holds it out for her. "I insist."

He swears he sees a small blush creep onto her cheeks as he helps her put her jacket on, but he shrugs it off. Offering his arm, he leads her out into the courtyard. The night is calm, the gentle _whoosh_-ing of the cars on the street the only sound. Sarah's arm is warm in his, and he wonders how many nights he overlooked this feeling.

"Thanks for walking me home, Chuck," Sarah says quietly, as if she's afraid to break the spell of the silence.

Chuck swallows nervously and keeps his eyes trained on the cobblestones beneath his feet. "Don't mention it," he mumbles.

Taking his arm with her free hand, she bumps him with her shoulder. "You okay?"

"Yeah, of course. I'm fine. Why wouldn't I be?"

Sarah shrugs, smiling. "No reason," she says.

She falls silent, and Chuck takes the opportunity to study her in the moonlight. She hasn't changed much over the past few years, her long blonde hair still falling in waves around her face, her bright blue eyes still filled with intensity. So he doesn't quite understand why he's looking at her differently all of a sudden.

Her apartment comes into view as they round the corner.

Sarah turns to him with a smile.

"Thanks for walking me home, Chuck. See you bright and early."

She turns to go, and Chuck still feels like his tongue is glued to his palate. Working up his courage, he stammers, "Wait."

Sarah, her hand on the doorknob, looks back in anticipation. He swallows, rocking back and forth on his feet. She lifts an eyebrow.

"You know my college buddy Bryce has a big birthday party every year, right?" he begins. Nervously, he massages the back of his neck, and, without waiting for her to respond, even with a nod, he starts to ramble, "Well, the thing is, Ellie and I always go, Morgan too, and this year it's supposed to be really fancy and nice. Apparently he's even flying in this famous opera singer. And the food's always really great. There's one entire table filled with more desserts than you can imagine. I almost died of chocolate overload last year –"

"Chuck."

His eyes snap up to hers. "Huh?"

"I'd love to go with you."

**People are talkin', talkin' 'bout people,  
I hear them whisper, you won't believe it.  
They think we're ****lovers**** kept ****under cover****,  
I just ignore it, but they keep saying we  
Laugh just a little too loud,  
Stand just a little too close.  
We stare just a little too long.  
Maybe they're seeing something we don't, darlin'.**

Chuck can't wipe the goofy grin off his face. It had sprang up when he and Sarah, arm-in-arm, had walked into the ballroom. Jaws had dropped when they'd come through the entranceway, and he can certainly understand why. Sarah can turn heads wearing sweats and a t-shirt, but now, in a purple, floor-length gown, she's beyond stunning.

He's never felt so lucky, even when he steps on her toe as she attempts to teach him to dance.

Laughing off the gaffe, she says, "Relax, Chuck. Ready?" He nods, still smiling, and she leads him through the steps. "Okay, back, three, four. Now towards me. Uh-uh, don't look at your feet, look in my eyes."

He obeys, raising his eyes to meet hers. Her gaze is so penetrating that he almost can't breathe. There's a fire there, a vitality he hadn't really noticed before. Or he had noticed and just overlooked, taken it for granted. It's been staring him in the face for years now.

How had he not seen it before?

"Good!" she exclaims when he finally gets the steps down.

Pride swells in his chest at the praise. He'd known they were different, but he had no idea she was this good a dancer. And the fact that she's spending time teaching him to cha-cha gives him confidence that they can bridge the gap between their worlds. She can teach him to dance; he can teach her to play video games. She can teach him to speak French; he can teach her the finer points of lightsaber technique.

Within a few minutes, Chuck starts to relax enough to lead.

"Chuck, my man!"

Chuck bristles at the interruption, but turns to greet his old friend with a smile. "Hey, Bryce. Happy birthday."

Bryce shakes his hand and pulls him into a quick hug. "Thanks, man. I'm glad you could make it."

"I always do."

"I know," Bryce laughs before turning to Sarah. He takes her hand in his and brings it up to his lips. "It's so nice to see you again, Sarah."

"Same to you, Bryce," she replies sweetly.

Bryce grins. "I can't believe you finally roped this guy. I'm so happy for you two."

Chuck laughs nervously. His palms are starting to sweat. "What are you talking about, Bryce?"

"I mean you two finally got your act together. Ellie and I were waiting to see how long it'd take you two to figure it out."

A furious blush rises to Chuck's cheeks, and he glances over at Sarah. She offers an encouraging smile. He swallows, turns back to Bryce, and stammers, "Uh, actually, Bryce, we're not, um, we're not together."

Bryce's face falls. "Oh, man, really? That's a bummer." Looking at Sarah, he says, "I always thought you'd be good for him."

Now it's Sarah turn to blush, but she hides her embarrassment well. And Chuck can't help but notice how the color in her cheeks brings out the vibrancy in her eyes.

The thought is shaken from his mind when Bryce asks soberly, "Well, have you seen Ellie? I've been making the rounds and haven't gotten to say 'hi' to her yet."

"Yeah," Chuck replies. "Yeah, I think I saw her and Devon over by the punch."

"Great. I'll catch up with you two later?"

Chuck nods. Bryce walks away, and Chuck's eyes focus on everything but on his date. They stand in silence for a few moments, hovering awkwardly on the dance floor, before Sarah timidly offers, "All that dancing made me thirsty. I think I'm going to grab some champagne."

She's quiet, sure, but he's never known her to be timid.

"No," he offers quickly. "Let me go get it for you."

"It's really no big deal, Chuck," she counters quietly.

"I insist."

And he's off before she can refuse, caught in the middle of a war between his desires and reality, a reality that's telling him just how uncrossable that line between "best friend" and "girlfriend" really is.

**Let's give 'em somethin' to talk about  
(Somethin' to talk about)  
Let's give 'em somethin' to talk about  
(Somethin' to talk about)  
Let's give 'em somethin' to talk about  
How about love?**

Standing near the dessert table, Chuck grabs two flutes of champagne from a passing waiter. He looks around for his companion, and his eye is finally caught by a figure in purple standing on the balcony. He feels his heart sink into his toes when he notices Bryce standing next to her, chatting her up with a charming smile.

He glances down at his Converse-clad feet and looks around at the other guests, all dressed in well-fitting tuxedos. His tux fits well enough. Ellie had helped him rent it, after all, but he's suddenly acutely aware of the difference between men who rent tuxedos and men who keep one in the closet for events just like this. And it's not just in money. It's in the way they carry themselves, the confidence they exude in their attitudes.

But then he thinks back to when he picked Sarah up, and she had smiled, her eyes lighting up, when she'd seen his sneakers. He lives for that smile. Isn't that that more important than owning a tux?

Even so, and even though Bryce has been like a brother to him since college, he's always secretly dreaded these huge, elegant birthday parties of his. No matter how successful he is, Bryce and his friends always seem to be leaps ahead of him, and he can't help feeling out of place.

Turning away, he chugs a glass of champagne and sets the empty flute on a nearby table. He's about to down the second glass when he feels a thump on his shoulder.

"Bryce," he greets flatly.

"Hey, buddy," Bryce grins. "Why so down? It's a party. It's _my_ party. Liven up!"

Sighing, Chuck offers a weak smile. "You know how much I love parties."

Bryce, noticing the look in his eye, nods and says soberly, "I do. I can also tell that something else is bothering you." When Chuck doesn't respond right away, he guesses, "Is it Sarah?"

Chuck makes a half-hearted sound in the back of his throat, and Bryce jumps on that.

"I knew it! I knew something was going on between you two."

"Relax, Bryce," Chuck says, trying to contain his friend's enthusiasm. "There's nothing going on."

"Oh, I get it," Bryce says with an exaggerated nod of comprehension. "You're down _because_ there's nothing going on." He thumps him on the shoulder again. "Well, what are you waiting for, Chuckster? She's right out there, waiting for you."

"She's not waiting for me," Chuck shakes his head. "Not like that."

Bryce laughs. "I know I haven't known her as long as you have, and that I don't get to hang out with you guys very much any more, but I've seen the way she looks at you, and trust me, that girl is into you."

Chuck brightens and looks up at his friend. "Really?"

"Yeah," Bryce nods, smiling. "I was just talking to her. The only thing she could talk about was you."

Despite how much the news encourages him, there's still a bundle of misgiving in his gut. "I don't know, Bryce," he begins warily. "What if she just wants to be friends? What if I screw that up?"

Bryce slides his arm around his shoulder and leans in. In a firm, quiet voice, he says, "Listen to me, Chuck. The only things worth having in this life are the things you have to fight for, the things you have to risk losing something for." He gestures to the balcony. "And that woman out there? She's worth it, man."

Chuck swallows. Taking a deep breath, he nods. "Okay," he says, feeling his heart pound in his chest. "Okay."

Bryce thumps him on the shoulder and gives him a little push. "Go get her," he grins.

He shoves a second glass of champagne into Chuck's empty hand, and Chuck strolls determinedly toward the balcony. The cool night air is pleasant after the stuffiness of the party, and he's captured by how the moonlight illuminates Sarah's golden hair.

She's alone, leaning on her elbows over the balcony railing and looking out at the gardens. Chuck pauses in the doorway and, not wanting to spook her, clears his throat. She looks over her shoulder, a smile appearing when she sees him.

"Hey," she greets softly.

"Hey," he replies as he moves beside her and hands her a glass of champagne.

"I thought you'd gotten lost in there," she teases with a chuckle.

He breathes in deeply. "I almost did, right between the ice sculptures and the string quartet."

Sarah takes a sip of champagne and looks up at him. Softly, she says, "Well, I'm glad you found your way."

Abruptly, she turns away from him again. His smile fades when a shiver goes through her and she folds her arms for warmth.

"You're cold," he says quietly.

"No," she protests, "it was just a chill."

Taking off his tux jacket, he continues, "Here. Take this."

And he's sliding the coat around her shoulders before she can protest. Surprisingly, instead of pulling away, she leans into him, and he winds his arm around her. She rests her head against his shoulder.

"Thank you, Chuck," she whispers.

"You're welcome."

They stand in silence for a moment and watch the moonlight filter through the gardens. Sarah is warm beside him, and he can smell her lavender shampoo. It's like he's paralyzed, too afraid to change what they have. But then he gets a glimpse of what their future _could_ be – he imagines a house, and a dog, and family dinners, and lazy Saturday mornings spent in bed, and hell, maybe even kids someday (someday soon?) – and suddenly he can't contain it anymore.

"You know I'd do anything for you, Sarah," he tells her quietly, trying to keep his voice from shaking with nerves.

She pulls back to look up at him, but her palm is very distractingly laid against his chest, and he finds it hard to breathe. She doesn't say anything right away, just stares at him with an expression he can't decipher.

Nervous, he says, "I meant, you know, getting champagne and lending you my jacket. Things like that. Because that's what friends do, right? I'd do that for –"

"Chuck."

"Hmm?"

"Stop talking," Sarah says quietly, a soft smile playing on her lips.

She leans forward, keeping their gazes locked, and Chuck feels bold enough to wrap his arms around her waist. He can feel her breath, warm on his chin.

His ears are suddenly assaulted by the sound of silverware against glass. He turns to look inside, where a woman is standing in the middle of the dance floor.

"Excuse me, everyone!" she says in a loud, clear voice that carries all the way onto the balcony. "We're all here for Bryce's birthday, and he has a special treat to say 'thank you' for coming. If you'd all like to go downstairs and out into the garden, I think you'll be in for a very pleasant treat."

Chuck sighs.

He'd been _so close_.

Sarah runs her hands down his chest, her curled fingers hovering near his abdomen. The touch sends a shiver through him. "We should probably go, huh?" she asks sadly. "He is one of your good friends, after all."

"Yeah," Chuck agrees forlornly. "He is."

He starts to walk back into the ballroom, his heart sitting heavily in his chest, but then she takes his hand in hers, and the marble floor beneath him turns to air.

And when she beams at him, he feels as if the earth itself would change its orbit for her. And if it refused, he's sure he'd do everything in his power to make it comply, if only she'd grace him with that smile.

**I feel so foolish, I never noticed  
You act so nervous, could you be fallin' for me?  
It took the rumor to make me wonder,  
Now I'm convinced that I'm goin' under.  
Thinkin' 'bout you every day,  
Dreamin' 'bout you every night.  
I'm hopin' that you feel the same way,  
Now that we know it, let's really show it, darlin'.**

Guests mill about the gardens in confusion, a palpable sense of anticipation buzzing in the air. Chuck and Sarah wind their way through the hedges in search of either a seat or someone they know. Sarah, finally spotting Ellie and Devon standing by a bed of delphiniums, takes him by the elbow and leads him over.

"Hey, you two," Chuck greets amiably.

"Hey, Chuckster, Sarah," Devon intones with a characteristically wide grin. "What do you think this surprise is about?"

Ellie leans into her boyfriend with a laugh. "I'm betting that he's going to reveal a giant statue of himself, or something equally narcissistic."

"Come on, El," Chuck says with a smile. "He's not _that_ bad."

"No," she agrees, "but even you can't deny how highly he thinks of himself."

"You're right, babe," Devon interjects. "But it _is_ the dude's birthday."

"Okay, okay, I'm sorry!" says Ellie with a laugh, and Chuck gets the distinct impression that she's had one too many glasses of champagne.

They ease into a comfortable silence, but his smile fades as he notices how Devon has his arms curled around his girlfriend, how Ellie fits kind of perfectly against him. Slightly uncomfortable, Chuck slides his hands into his pockets in an attempt to not feel as awkward. Because he and Sarah are standing a foot apart, and he can't seem to cleanse that moment on the balcony from his mind.

The silence is suddenly oppressive to him, and, clearing his throat, he asks, "So are you having a good time?"

"Of course," Ellie nods. "Bryce always throws the most elegant parties. You know I didn't really mean that stuff about him, right?"

Chuck looks up in surprise. His sister must sense something's off with him, but that's not what he's upset about at all. "Don't worry about it, Ellie," he shrugs. With a chuckle, he jokes, "It's not like Bryce hasn't heard worse from his girlfriends anyways."

"Yeah, when _is_ that boy going to settle down?" An idea strikes her and she offers, "Ooh, maybe I should set him up."

Devon laughs. "That's okay, babe. I'm sure the guy can handle his own personal life."

Ellie frowns, but her reply is cut off by a boom that sounds above them. The four of them tilt their heads to look at the night sky, the stars now obscured by dazzling fireworks.

Chuck grins. "I should've known."

He tries to focus on the display, but his attention is drawn away when Sarah steps closer to him. She slips her hand into his, and he looks down to see a contented smile on her face. The colored flashes of light glint off her face; he can't tear his eyes away.

When she notices that he's watching her, she looks at him, her smile growing.

"What?" she asks over the noise.

"Nothing."

"You're not watching the fireworks."

"No, but I _am_ looking at the most beautiful thing here."

Chuck forces a deep breath into his lungs. His heart is hammering against his ribs so violently that he feels like it's trying to burst out of his chest.

Before he can calm himself down, Sarah's kissing him. His brain short-circuits, and the only thing he can rely on is his senses. The only thing he can feel is her lips against his, soft and supple. The only thing he can smell is her heady scent, lavender and delphiniums and pumpkin. The only thing he can taste is her, and she tastes like champagne and sweetness and more than he ever imagined.

She's real. _This_ is real. Her fingers are tangling in his hair; her tongue is gliding along his lower lip.

Sarah pulls away reluctantly, her lips holding onto his until the last possible moment. Smiling, she leans her forehead against his, and he can feel her breath on his cheek.

"I've wanted to do that," she whispers, "for a long time."

He chuckles softly, snaking his arms tighter around her waist, and she leans into him. Emboldened, he whispers, "Want to get out of here?"

The fireworks, the other guests, everything is forgotten in a moment. The world shrinks until it's just the two of them. A radiant smile gracing her lips, Sarah grabs his hand and leads him through the winding garden pathways. They're running for the hills, laughing like two school kids skipping class.

And Chuck, holding her hand and letting her laughter wash over him, can't think of one place he'd rather be.

**Let's give 'em somethin' to talk about  
(Somethin' to talk about)  
A little mystery to figure out  
(Somethin' to talk about)  
Let's give 'em somethin' to talk about  
How about love?**

"Chuck Bartowski," Sarah begins with a smile, "this is the best night I've had in a long time."

They're on the beach, barefoot and eating ice cream straight out of the cartons. Chuck's jacket is still shrugged around Sarah's shoulders, and he's loosened his bowtie and shirt collar. The night is pleasantly cool, the stars twinkling, the ocean waves crashing gently over their feet.

A wistful look in her eyes, she adds softly, "And I've had some really good ones with you."

She eats a spoonful of Moosetracks ice cream before he can make her elaborate. Smiling, Chuck digs his spoon into her carton and steals some of her ice cream. She counters by stealing some of his.

"I'm glad," he tells her. "I like spending time with you."

"You better," she teases. "We do work together after all."

He laughs and takes another bite of his Cake Batter ice cream.

Sarah takes a breath. Soberly, she tells him, "I like you, Chuck. You're my best friend, and you and your sister and your friends have become like family to me over the past few years."

His smile fades, and his heart plummets. He stares at his bare feet, his toes curling into the sand. She's holding his future, his _heart_, in her hands.

"The thing is," she tries again, "I'm not very good at saying how I feel. And I want you to know how I feel about you." Lifting her gaze to his, she swallows and corrects herself. "I _need_ you to know."

He narrows his eyes, not sure he's understanding her correctly. "What exactly are you saying, Sarah?"

She inhales and exhales deeply. "I'm not sure when it started, Chuck. We've known each other for so long now; we know each other so well. But, I think I might possibly . . . like-like you."

The confession stuns him. He hadn't really expected her to have felt the same way for so long.

"Well, I think I might possibly like-like you, too," he tells her, unable to keep a wide grin off his face.

Beaming, Sarah slides her hand on top of his. "I thought it might be weird, seeing as how you're my boss. I thought people might talk."

She's close to him now, her scent filling his lungs.

Feeling suddenly daring, he leans close and lets his lips hover over hers as he whispers, "Then let them talk. You're the best thing that's ever happened to me, Sarah. There's no way I'm passing up that chance because of what people might say."

"So you don't care that I'm technically your employee?"

"Uh-uh," he shakes his head. "You're Sarah."

"And you're Chuck," she counters with a soft, delighted laugh.

"And we're just Chuck and Sarah."

With that, he closes the distance that's been dividing them all night. She responds eagerly, sliding her hands up his chest and around his neck. His ice cream drops onto the sand as he slides his arms around her waist. He never wants to let her go.

"So where do we go from here?" Sarah asks quietly.

He shrugs, smiling at her. "Wherever we want to."

Sarah leans into him, their shoulders touching, and at that moment, everything falls into place for Chuck.****

Let's give 'em somethin' to talk about babe,  
A little mystery to figure out.  
Let's give 'em somethin' to talk about,  
How about love? Ooh . . . 


	34. Turn to Stone

Song: "Turn to Stone," by Ingrid Michaelson.

A/N: I say this a lot, but a thousand thanks to **BillatWork **and **yokaputo**. Without them, this chapter would have been a 12,000-word mess. It's still a beast, and that's still all my fault, but they're the reasons it actually makes sense now. :)

Okay, peeps, I'd like your thoughts on a couple things. First, I was thinking about cutting this story off at forty chapters. Opinions? Think I should opt for 42 instead? Are you rolling your eyes and thinking 'About gosh darn time?' Either way, I'd like to know!

Second, if you could mention in review a favorite chapter or two (and why), that'd be awesome. This story's been going on for a while now, my style's really changed, and I'd like to see what kind of stories readers respond to the most. I hope that'll help me to shape coming chapters.

All right, given the first couple of reviews, I feel obliged to explain that this is a _Sarah_-centric piece. You should know by now how much I sympathize with her as a character. If you don't agree with that, you probably shouldn't read on . . . just warning. If you do choose to read on, I trust you to read between the lines.

* * *

After all the talk, all the debate, all the headache-inducing _noise_, she takes him home. The night's been too long, the developments of the evening too unexpected, and all she wants to do is spend the night snuggling against him.

Chuck trudges down the hall wearily, leaning on her almost unconsciously, the petals of the flower in his lapel wilted as if to match his physical exhaustion. Even if he had been mentally prepared for that mammoth of a flash, his body isn't used to his new abilities. Sarah can tell from the grimace on his lips that his muscles are beginning to ache, that the night's incidents are starting to catch up to him.

Once inside her hotel room, he collapses onto the bed, not even bothering to take off his shoes. Frowning, she pushes his suit jacket off his shoulders, eliciting a groan from her almost-boyfriend.

"You want me to get you some aspirin?" she asks softly.

He responds with a small nod. "That'd be great. Thanks."

She tosses his jacket onto a chair near the window on her way to the bathroom.

"Hey, Sarah?"

She stops in the bathroom doorway, not looking back.

"Thanks for taking care of me," Chuck breathes. "I know you don't have to."

There are a dozen excuses she could give him right now. That he's still her asset, still her responsibility. That, with Ellie and Devon married and a bit preoccupied, she's the only one left with enough sense to take care of his physical injuries. That she's the only one he can talk to about the spy world.

But the truth is he broke her heart tonight, and she's not really in the mood to humor him.

So instead of saying any of that, she sighs and says, "Okay, Chuck," before walking into the bathroom to get him some aspirin.

**Let's take a better look  
Beyond a story book**

He's been asleep for an hour now, his breathing quiet and even, and Sarah can't lie still any longer. She's suffocating here, smothered by the presence of his lanky frame beside her. He looks so peaceful, a stray curl fallen onto his forehead. Hesitantly, she takes a deep breath and brushes it aside.

Slipping out from beneath the covers, she tiptoes over to the window and looks out across the city, illuminated even in the early hours of the morning. A sudden chill goes through her, and, after a moment's debate, she grabs his jacket from the nearby chair and slings it over her shoulders.

The clothing still retains his smell, a heady mix of cinnamon and Irish Spring. She breathes it in before she can stop herself, and the scent takes her back, takes her back to nights full of laughter and days filled with simple pleasures. The familiar aroma calms her nerves, but it can't quiet the storm in her heart.

Pleasures she'd never experience again, not now that he has the Intersect in his head again. And not just the Intersect, but a new version of it, a better, more dangerous one.

Sarah sighs and, resting her forehead against the cool glass, resists the nigh-overwhelming urge to cry.

After denying the desires of her heart for so long, she finally held everything she wanted, only to have it be snatched away after just a taste.

She's been deluding herself, she supposes. Chuck made her believe that she was worth something, that she deserved happiness, so how come, at the moment she decides to go after it, chase something she's been craving all her life, it eludes her through a cruel twist of fate?

Maybe she's not worth it at all . . .

She slams a fist against the window pane.

No. She wants – _needs_ – more than this, more than sitting back and watching the love of her life slip past her because of some stupid agency rules against fraternization. She needs more than just standing aside while watching as her life passes by.

Chuck had once accused her of being a robot, and right now, she almost wishes she were. It'd be a hell of a lot easier than trying to wade through all the emotions she's feeling.

Her breath fogs up the window, and as she rubs it away with the back of her fist, she suddenly identifies what's been eating at her all night.

He's done it _for her_.

Wasn't she the one who told him he was a hero? She's been telling him all along that he's been wasting his potential, that he's too good for the Buy More. She's believed in him, all this time, and this is how he repays her.

By destroying their only chance to be together. By forsaking a future with her in order to become a hero. By choosing duty over love.

She's a danger to him. She can't think straight while he's around, and she's starting to think that she affects him in the same way. If she clouds his judgment, which is likely given the choice he made tonight, then it's not safe to stay with him, to stay around him.

They'll only bring each other pain.

Standing at her window at three A.M., with Chuck's suit jacket wrapped around her and an ache in her heart that escalates by the second, Sarah Walker makes the biggest, most excruciating decision of her life.

She has to leave him.

Because how can you love someone without loving yourself, without even knowing who you are?

**And learn our souls are all we own  
Before we turn to stone**

Beckman takes the news well, considering the government's losing one of its top agents. Casey, too, seems to understand, even if he's not quite thrilled by the prospect of her departure.

But Chuck . . . how is she supposed to face Chuck? How is she supposed to look into those deep, warm eyes and explain that she's leaving him for good?

Weak with dread, Sarah leans against the conference table in the basement of the Castle. Her palms are sweaty, and her heart feels like it's going to burst out of her chest it's beating so erratically.

But she's made her decision.

Reluctantly, she climbs the stairs to the Orange Orange, where he's undoubtedly waiting for her. She'd seen the look in his eyes earlier, and she knows he'll jump at the first chance to talk to her. She walks into the main store and, sure enough, he jumps up from a table.

"Sarah!" he greets, flustered by her sudden appearance. Softening, he smiles. "Hey."

She doesn't say anything, can barely look him in the eye for fear of breaking down right there and then.

"What's going on?" he questions. His brow furrows as he adds, "You were down there for a while. Is everything all right? Does Beckman need to talk to me?"

Sarah exhales shakily and leans against the countertop for support. She wants to say so much, but the only word that comes out is, "Why?"

And when she glances up at him, she can tell he knows exactly what she means.

Chuck, stunned, takes an involuntary step back. "I . . . I," he stammers, "I did it for you."

She squeezes her eyes shut tight, forcing back the tears and swallowing the lump in her throat. She'd known it, of course, but it's the last thing she wanted to hear. "No," she replies quietly, shaking her head. "That's not good enough, Chuck."

He blinks at her. "What do you want me to say, Sarah? I had . . . a minute to make that decision." Swallowing nervously, he softly says, "And all I could think about was you."

"Wrong answer, Chuck," she replies, her voice full of anguish, and she can feel the crack in her heart split deeper with each word. She pushes past him, intending to leave the yogurt shop for the last time. "You made the wrong choice."

"How can you say that to me?" he asks, agonized. His long fingers grasp her wrist as he spins her to face him. The touch is like a death grip to her, burning into her skin. "How can you ask me that after all we've been through? After telling me I needed to be the hero?"

He's hovering between angry and disbelieving, caught once again by her conflicting signals. How many times have her words come back to haunt her? But this is the first time it's mattered. This is the first time anything's really mattered to her at all.

She sighs. If she's going to leave, she has every reason to be honest with him. He deserves that at least. Meeting his gaze, she takes a breath and says forcefully, "I never told you to be the hero. I said you _were_ one. You've always been one. It's who you are; you just . . . never saw it."

"I'm not a hero," he protests emphatically. "You're a hero. Casey is a hero. _Bryce_ is a hero."

He bites his tongue, looking as if he wants nothing more than to take back his words, and a sudden realization dawns on her.

Her mouth drops open slightly. "_That_'s what this is about?" Taking a step forward, she levels an accusing stare at him. "You're _jealous_ of Bryce?"

"Of course not," Chuck scoffs.

"Then explain it to me," she pleads. "Because I'm having a really hard time grasping why you would throw away our future because of some misguided fantasy."

"Future?" he shouts. "What future? You'd made it quite clear that we were going nowhere." Narrowing his eyes, he accuses, "You _chose_ him! You _chose_ to leave me! What was I supposed to think?"

"I was going to stay, dumbass!"

Chuck deflates, breathing heavily. "What?" he asks softly.

Sarah takes a minute to compose herself, to swallow down the emotions that are bubbling up. "I said," she murmurs, "I was going to stay." She collapses into a nearby chair and buries her face in her hands. "I was going to tell you last night. But . . . I never got a chance to."

He falls into the chair across from hers, his mouth agape. "Bryce . . . Bryce said something . . . last night. I just, I didn't realize." She jumps when he slams his fist onto the tabletop. "Why didn't I listen to him?"

Swallowing thickly, Sarah raises her eyes to him. "We've both made mistakes," she says quietly. She stands and says, "But I need to start _living_, Chuck. I'm sick of missing out on life because I'm waiting for something I may not ever get." After all, how can she love him if she hardly even knows herself? He looks at her, his eyes glistening. "You should be proud of me," she tells him, a mirthless ghost of a smile on her lips. "After all, you were the one who taught me to go after what I want."

She's twisting his words, of course, just like he twisted hers, because he had said that when he'd thought she'd wanted _him_. He wasn't wrong. He still isn't.

She wants him. She wants him so much her heart aches without him.

But she doesn't need him. In the past year-and-a-half, she's learned to respect herself, and she's learned that she doesn't deserve a life where her other half doesn't get all of that.

"Don't you understand?" she cries, feeling as if she's grasping at straws in trying to explain it to him. "I can't be around you anymore, not when I can't be _with_ you. It's too much. I've been at it for too long." She sighs, her shoulders sagging with a burden she's been carrying for too long. "You've worn me down."

He stands, opening his mouth but not speaking.

There's so much left to say, but what good are words now?

He just stands there, speechless, and she takes a breath. "I barely know anything about myself," she says softly. "I need to figure out who I am before . . . before filling my life with someone else. Do you get that?"

Chuck makes no move, not even _trying_ to understand, and the perplexed expression on his face frustrates her to no end.

She has the urge to kiss him, to smash her mouth against his in a desperate, frantic attempt to right her upside-down world, but that would cause more harm than good. So instead she presses her hand to his and says, "Goodbye, Chuck."

And Sarah Walker walks away, out of the Orange Orange and out of Chuck Bartowski's life.

**Let's go to sleep with clearer heads  
And hearts too big to fit out beds**

Late-morning sunlight streams in through the window, hitting Sarah full in the face. The Charleston summer is hot, and so is the window seat she's currently occupying, but the bookstore is cool enough to balance the heat. She sighs and runs a hand through her loose hair as she turns the last page of her book. On the recommendation from a coworker, she's reading the first book in the _Sword of Truth_ series, and it's simultaneously delighting and frustrating her.

Right now, though, it's firmly frustrating her. Frustrating because she sees so much of herself in Kahlan, and because she identifies so much with the struggles, both against evil and against their feelings, that she and Richard go through.

But why should Kahlan get her happy ending when Sarah can barely figure out what she's doing?

Growling in frustration as she finishes the book, she hurls it across the store. Luckily, it's a lull period of the day, and she's in no danger of hitting a customer.

"Watch it!" Diana calls from the front of the store.

"Sorry," Sarah yells back, glancing at her watch; her break ends in three minutes.

Diana pokes her head around a stack of books. "What was that for?" she asks curiously. "You nearly took out our Edith Wharton display."

Sarah looks up with a sheepish smile. "I said I was sorry."

Crossing her arms, Diana replies cheekily, "But you haven't explained yourself."

"It made me angry," she shrugs. Without giving Diana time to respond, she gets up and walks to the front of the store, picking up the book on her way. "Anyways, my break's over."

Sarah sits behind the counter and puts her feet up, concentrating on smoothing the wrinkled pages of the thrown book. Her coworker, perched on the counter, crosses her arms and cocks an eyebrow, a bright smile on her face that contrasts pleasantly with her dark skin.

"Okay, fine," Diana says. "We won't talk about your anger issues. Can we at least talk about your deal?"

"My 'deal'?" Sarah chuckles.

"Yeah," Diana replies with a good-natured smile. "You show up here looking for work. You've got no past, and you apparently want no future because you choose to work in a used bookstore of all places. You have a Porsche, so obviously you've got some moolah. You're quiet, all mysterious, but you're an awesome worker. You're here like, all the time. None of that, put together, really makes sense. So, I reiterate, what's your deal, Sarah Irving?"

Sarah takes a deep breath and studies her Converses. "Maybe I just like to read," she shrugs.

Diana lets out a short, sharp laugh. "Yeah, that's why _I _work here, honey. Because I'm getting a Masters Degree in English Literature, and, let's face it, what can I really do with that? But what are _you_ doing here?"

Sarah doesn't respond, just looks at her friend with a smile.

"Oh, come on," Diana laughs. "You're going to make me guess?" She narrows a playfully affronted gaze at her. "Fine, then. I'll give you the worst history I can come up with."

Sarah leans back with a laugh and allows her friend to scrutinize her.

After a moment, Diana says, "Well, you're too morally upright to have had an affair, so we can rule that out."

"Well, thanks," Sarah says dryly.

"But maybe . . . just maybe, a crime of passion?" Diana conjectures with a grin. "You were an heiress."

Sarah chortles. "An heiress?"

"Just shut up and listen! Yes, an heiress. And you fell in love with a gardener. And just when you were about to run away with him, you found him sleeping with the maid, and the two of them were plotting on how best to weasel you out of your fortune. So you whacked him over the head with a candlestick –"

"Let me guess: in the conservatory?" Sarah smirks.

"Very funny. If you're not going to tell me anything, then don't make fun of me when I guess."

"The least you can do is actually guess, not speculate wildly."

"Well?" Diana sighs.

"Well, what?"

"Was I close?"

"No," Sarah laughs. "Not remotely."

Diana blows a raspberry at her friend, letting her heels bounce off the counter. "So not even a hint?"

Sarah lets out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. She'd come to Charleston for a fresh start. She didn't really want to talk about her past, but holding it inside and letting it fester wasn't going to help any.

"There was a guy," she confesses softly.

"I knew it!" Diana shouts triumphantly. "There's _always_ a guy."

A sad smile gracing her lips, Sarah says, "But he broke my heart, and I came here to forget about him. Simple as that."

Diana softens. "Did he cheat on you? Because I swear to God, if he did, I will break his head. No one cheats on my friends and gets away with it."

Sarah chuckles, warmed by her friend's loyalty, happy that she can call this woman her friend after only a few months. "I appreciate that," she says, "but no, he didn't cheat. He just . . . we were in a tough situation, and things didn't work out."

"Wait," Diana says quietly, "so you just left him?"

Sarah frowns. "He made a choice, and I decided I needed to start living for myself. That's all."

"Wow, so you just started over?"

"I had to," Sarah replies with a small shrug. "I didn't know who I was on my own."

"And are you figuring it out?"

Sighing, Sarah answers, "Slowly."

"Well, hey," Diana returns with a smile, smacking her gently on the knee, "you've got me now. And this silly store."

"And what would I do without you?" Sarah laughs.

"Ooh!" Diana squeals quietly, doing a stupid little dance. "You know what? We should go out tonight. Kick up our heels and stir up some trouble! We can figure out your favorite cocktail!"

"As much as I'd like that, it's Tuesday."

"So?"

"So I joined that recreational softball league, remember? We have games on Tuesday nights."

"Fine. I'll be there to cheer you on, and then we'll go out tomorrow night," Diana cheerfully concludes.

Sarah rolls her eyes, but there's a smile on her face as she says, "All right. You win. We'll go out tomorrow night."

Diana whoops and does a little dance, but quickly reels it in when a customer walks through the door. "Oh," she says, "it's just Brian."

"Gee, thanks, Diana," Brian laughs as he walks up to the counter.

He's tall and lean, with dazzling green eyes and a charming smile that make you feel instantly at ease.

"Hey, Brian," Sarah smiles. "Don't mind her. She gets touchy when she has a paper due. Which you still need to start on, my friend," she reminds Diana with a chuckle.

"Yeah, yeah. I'll start on it tonight when I'm supposed to be watching your game," the other woman replies, waving off her concern.

"Same old Diana," Brian laughs. Turning back to Sarah, he says, "So I assume if she's going to be there, you're coming to the game tonight?"

"Yep," Sarah replies. "I'll be there with my game face on."

"Cool," Brian laughs. "Well, I finished the book I bought last week and thought you might have another to recommend."

"Ask her for something depressing," Diana advises with a smirk. "She might get grumpy if you ask her for a happy ending."

Brian chuckles uncertainly. "Uh, okay. So, any . . . depressing recommendations for me this week?"

Sarah nods and comes out from behind the counter, smiling. "I'm sure we can find you something."

**And maybe we won't feel so alone  
Before we turn to stone**

It takes a while, but Sarah slowly starts to feel alive again. She finds friends, finds hobbies, and the world starts to right itself. It's not her old life, no. Its scope is smaller and its reach less broad, and there's still a pain in her heart that she can't erase, but still, it's a good life, and she can enjoy and appreciate every inch of the freedom it affords her.

Biking home from work, she takes a deep breath and lets the fresh autumn air fill her lungs. This is it. This is what she lives for now: freedom, and fresh air, and something close enough to contentment.

Which is why she's more than a little annoyed when she gets to home to find the front door unlocked. It's too reminiscent of her days in the agency, coming 'home' on a mission to find your apartment raided. Always alert, never safe. It's an aspect of that life she doesn't miss.

"Diana," she calls as she walks through the front door, making every effort to tone down her screaming instincts. "That better be you."

But when she receives no reply, her instincts only scream louder. She closes the door silently and sets her bag on the floor. There's a gun hidden in the buffet table in the hallway, and she grabs it as she tiptoes towards the kitchen.

Stealing into the kitchen, gun at the ready, she relaxes when she catches sight of a large, black-clad man sitting in the corner and doing a crossword.

"Casey," she breathes, flipping on the light.

The NSA agent's brow loses its furrow as he looks up. "It would have been easier to sneak up on me if you hadn't announced yourself when you walked through the door."

Sarah frowns, crossing her arms. "This is _my_ house," she protests. "I can make as much noise as I want to."

Casey lets out a low chuckle. Instead of arguing, he asks, "Aren't you going to offer me a drink?"

Rolling her eyes, she disarms the gun, sets it down on the table, and walks over to the counter to make some coffee. "Coffee okay?" she asks.

"Sure." A beat goes by before he adds, "You've got a nice place here."

Sarah laughs softly. "You don't have to make small talk, you know. It really doesn't suit you."

"I'm serious though," he replies. "It's cozy."

"It's home," she replies as she glances around. Even in the dim light of evening, the yellow kitchen is warm and inviting. And she likes it because it's more than just _a_ home, it's _her_ home, something she hasn't had in too long. Taking a seat across from her visitor, she adds, "And it suits me."

"You like it here?"

"I have a good life, a fun job. Softball, biking, the rest of my hobbies keep me active." She sighs. "I keep busy, Casey."

He grunts quietly. "That's the secret, isn't it? Keeping busy?"

She knows what he means, what he's talking about. Keeping busy is the key to keeping her mind off of the past. And isn't that what this whole move was about?

"Yeah," she murmurs, jumping up when the coffee maker beeps. "You still take it black?"

Casey grunts in the affirmative, gratefully accepting the cup when she slides it across the table. He takes a sip and grimaces as the hot liquid slides down his throat.

Sarah retakes her seat and takes a sip of coffee before she asks, "So why are you really here, Casey?"

"Can't a guy visit his friend without being accused of having ulterior motives?"

Smiling, she twirls her finger around the edge of her coffee mug. "Not when said guy is an NSA agent and said friend knows for a fact that he's still supposed to be on a very important, top-secret assignment."

"'Knows for a fact', huh?" he smirks, lifting an eyebrow. She blushes, withholding a response, and he asks, "Been checking up on us, have you?"

"No," she lies. "I just figured I would have heard if Beckman had pulled the plug on the Intersect Project."

"Fair enough," Casey concedes.

They slip into silence, because Casey's waiting for her to open up the conversation and Sarah's too stubborn to actually ask. Realizing that he's not going to break, she asks, "How's LA?"

"Sunny."

"Nice," she retorts. She purses her lips before breaking down a little further and questioning, "Have you had any . . . good assignments lately?"

Casey shrugs and narrows his eyes at the crossword on the table. "What's a six letter word for 'yellow-bellied'. Starts with a 'c', ends with an 'n'."

She bites her tongue and insists, "This is not about whether I'm _craven_ or not, Casey."

"Hmmph," he grunts, writing the word down.

Sarah takes another sip of coffee, biding her time. Casey, seemingly absorbed in his crossword, isn't budging. "You're going to make me ask, aren't you?"

He smirks.

Sobered, Sarah sets the mug down and whispers, "How is he?"

Casey swallows, takes a sip of coffee, and levels an impenetrable gaze at her. She sucks in her breath.

"No," she breathes, "if you've come here to tell me that, _don't_ tell me that. I'd rather not know."

"Relax," he assures her. "The kid's still alive. Doesn't stay in the car yet, but he's still alive."

"Then what's the matter?" she asks, afraid to know the answer.

Casey sighs. "He's not doing so good."

"What do you mean? Is he hurt?" She asks it too quickly, more like an overly-concerned ex-girlfriend and less like the disengaged ex-handler she's supposed to be.

"No," he shakes his head, "nothing like that."

"Then what is it, Casey?" she asks, the concern evident in her tone.

He pauses, looking lost for words. He finally says, "He can't handle it."

Sarah sinks back into her seat and quietly asks, "What do you mean?"

"It wasn't made for him, for someone with his emotions. It keeps glitching, sometimes on missions even." The older man sighs, "He's lost without you."

Dropping her eyes to the table, she fiddles with her mug of coffee. How is she supposed to respond to that? She can barely function without him, and now Casey wants to guilt her into coming back, even if it would mean giving up what she's come here for? "I don't know what you want me to do, Casey," she replies gently. "I don't know why you came here."

"Look," he says, getting down to business, "I'm telling you that he needs you. _We_ need you. And you're just going to sit back and pretend like it doesn't matter to you?" He shakes his head. "Not buying it, Walker."

"It's Irving now," she counters. Just after it slips from her mouth, she regrets it.

Casey takes exactly what she expects him to take from her error. "Ah," he says, "_Irving_, then."

Sarah runs a hand through her hair, hating that Casey's forcing her into a corner like this. They were partners. _Partners_. "You know I can't go back," she whispers.

"You mean you _won't_ go back." His aspect turns dark with disappointment, and she realizes how much their partnership truly meant to him.

"No," she insists. Softer, she confesses, "I mean I can't face him. Not after . . . how we left it."

"You tore him up, you know, when you left him. I don't think he smiled for weeks."

"I didn't leave _him_. . . . I left a life I couldn't stand anymore."

"A life with him in it, which, to him, is the same thing."

Sarah stares at a plant in the corner, her gaze losing its focus. "We sacrifice everything fighting for the greater good," she finally mumbles. "And at the end of the day, what do we have to show for it? I got a glimpse of what I could have had, without the CIA, and having that life be snatched away from me just when I thought it was in reach . . . that nearly destroyed me." She shakes her head, recalling a conversation they had early on in their partnership. "I'm sorry, Casey. I know that's hard for you to understand."

"No," he returns, his voice low and rumbling, "it's not so hard anymore." Clearing his throat, he straightens and asks, "So you're not coming back?"

Sarah shakes her head again. "No. I'm sorry." Casey nods, communicating a hundred things with just that gesture. They sip their coffee in silence, two friends lost in memories, until Sarah queries, "He doesn't know you're here?"

"No, and he won't find out."

"Thank you, Casey."

"What are friends for?"

She takes a sip of coffee. "I miss him, you know."

"I know you do," he replies in a quiet, gruff voice. "But this isn't over yet. You've still got lots of time to make it back to each other." Casey finishes his coffee in one big gulp and slides his mug towards her for a refill. As she rises to get it, he asks, "So how are you, Sarah? And tell the truth this time."

Her back toward Casey, Sarah takes her time refilling the mug. When she's done, she heaves a sigh, turns around, and leans against the counter. "We go through life noticing everything, but do you ever get the feeling that we don't really _see_ any of it? That we're missing so much by focusing on the wrong things?"

The NSA agent frowns. "Like . . . 'smell the roses' sort of thing?"

"Yeah," she breathes, sitting down again and handing him the coffee. "Do you even know what your favorite book is?"

"Of course. _The Art of War_."

"Okay, bad example. How about your favorite movie? Or band? Or color? Do you know any of that, Casey?"

He stares at her for a moment, then shakes his head. "I'm not sure what you're driving at."

Sighing, she rakes a hand through her hair. "Don't you see? We spend so much of our time being other people that we forget to be ourselves."

"Okay."

"Okay?"

"Okay," he repeats. "I get why you can't come back. I get what you're looking for."

Sarah takes another deep breath. "You'll take care of him for me, won't you though?"

"Of course," Casey nods. "As long as you promise to take care of yourself in the meantime, all right?"

Quiet, she gulps down her coffee. Her former partner looks at her intensely.

"Promise me," he entreats gruffly.

She looks up, meets his eye, and she's nearly overwhelmed by the blatant concern in his gaze.

"I promise."

**And if you wait for someone else's hand  
You will surely fall down**

His lips brush against her ear, the sensation stealing the breath from her lungs. Brian drops his hands down, lets his fingertips ghost over her back. The touch sends a shiver down her spine, and she's having trouble catching her breath, but she inhales deeply and slides her hands up his chest, over his muscles and up his neck until her fingers are tangled in his hair. It's dark and straight, soft against her palms.

Not curly.

She realizes that with a pang.

She swallows down the lump forming in her throat, arching her back slightly as he kisses her neck. There's no doubt he affects her, but in the end, she knows this is just a poor substitute for the real thing, knows he's second-best to the man she'd rather be with right now.

That's all he'll ever be.

Oblivious to her inner turmoil, he maneuvers them around the couch and out of the living room, and they stumble down the hallway. He lifts his head to kiss her lips again, and she catches a whiff of a familiar scent.

Sarah rears her head back. "Is that . . . is that Irish Spring?"

Looking up, a smile on his face, he nods. "Yeah. Why?"

She shakes her head, too caught up in memories to answer him. An image flashes through her mind – early morning, sheets and pillows, and the alarm clock is waking them up way too early considering how late they were out on last night's mission. But somehow she doesn't mind, because he's beside her, and everything about him fills her with comfort – his warmth, his scent. She breathes him in, breathes in the soothing aroma of cinnamon and Irish Spring soap.

"Sarah?"

His voice calls her back to the present, but she doesn't want to come. The tears are forming behind her eyes, and it takes all her efforts to keep them from spilling.

"I'm sorry," she tells him hurriedly. "I'm so sorry. Excuse me."

And she's running.

She gets as far as the bathroom before the teardrops come gushing down her cheeks, but it's far enough. She takes refuge inside, locks the door, and sinks onto the closed seat of the toilet, all the while letting the tears flow fast and free and heavy.

She hasn't cried properly since she left him, and now that the floodgates are open, the dam's spilling over. Violent sobs rack her frame; her breathing is labored and uneven.

But she doesn't try to stop it. She needs this cry. She's needed it for a while now.

"Sarah?" Brian calls, his voice muffled through the closed door.

She can't speak through her sobs, but can't compose herself either. "Wh-what?"

"Is everything all right?" There's a beat before he asks, "Do you want me to leave?"

Sarah breathes deeply, forcing the air in and out of her lungs. She grabs a towel from the nearby rack and dries her cheeks. As lonely as she's been without Chuck, it'd be so much lonelier without Brian. He's become one of her best friends since she moved here, and she'd rather face this night with him than without him.

"No, Brian," she answers, sniffling. "Will you stay?"

"Of course. I'll be in the living room when you need me."

Standing, she moves to the sink and splashes water on her face. This was all a mistake. She never should have listened to Diana when she convinced her to go out with Brian. He's a fantastic guy, amazing really, but no matter how hard he tries, he could never be number one in her heart. Because there's a guy she thinks about every night before she goes to sleep, every morning when she wakes up. There's a guy who consumes her thoughts, and it isn't Brian.

And it wasn't fair to him to let him believe that he could ever be more than a friend.

Composing herself, Sarah straightens and gives herself a once-over. She's nowhere near as presentable as she was at the beginning of the night. Her eyes are red-rimmed and puffy, her hair is loose, and her nose is running. Realizing he can't wait forever, she dabs at it with a tissue and emerges from the bathroom.

Brian's in the living room, sitting on the couch in jeans and a printed tee. His suit jacket from their date is slung over the arm of the sofa. But he's still here, just like he promised. Even so, the fact that he's sticking around astonishes her.

"You're still here," she murmurs in amazement, her heart swelling with gratitude that she has such a good friend.

"Yeah," he nods solemnly. He holds up his beer bottle. "I stole a beer, though. I hope you don't mind."

She chuckles. "You're over all the time, and you've never asked me for food before. Why start now?"

Brian looks up at her with a pained expression. "I made you cry."

Sinking onto the cushion beside him, Sarah sighs. "Brian, no, it wasn't you. I . . . I'm sorry. This is nothing to do with you, I promise."

"I get it," he tells her with a gloomy shrug.

"No, you really don't," she insists sadly as she leans against the back of the couch. "It's just . . . I'm not exactly over my ex."

Brian offers her a smile. "You don't have to explain, Sarah."

"I do. I . . . shouldn't have agreed to go out with you, Brian, and for that, I'm sorry."

He leans back with a sigh and says, "I appreciate your honesty."

"Thank you. I'll understand if you want to leave."

"You know," he says, scratching his head, "I'd really like to be the boyfriend in this situation, but for now, I can live with being the best friend."

"Are you sure?" Sarah asks, a hesitant smile flickering on her lips. "That's a pretty tall order."

"Yeah," Brian replies. "Now, do you think you'll be okay alone for twenty minutes?"

"Sure. Why?"

He smiles. "Because _I_ am going to go get us some ice cream and some movies, and _we_ are going to make the most of this night."

"That's really sweet of you, Brian." As he slings on his jacket and nears the doorway, she adds, "Hey, would you mind getting some movies I haven't seen?"

"No problem."

He's back in twenty-five, and she takes that time to change out of her dress and into jeans and a t-shirt. Brian returns, triumphant, with a bag of movies and one of snacks. Grinning and resuming his seat beside her, he hands her a bottle of Coopers and a pint of Ben and Jerry's Fossil Fuel.

"I believe this is what the doctor ordered," he laughs.

Accepting the snacks gratefully, she nods. "His exact prescription."

"So for movies, I tried to get a broad range, if you will, but all of which I think you will like." He pulls out the movies one-by-one as he names them. "First choice, we have a musical:_ Singin' in the Rain_. Classic Gene Kelly."

"I've never seen that."

"Good. For drama and romance, some Jane Austen: _Sense and Sensibility_ with Emma Thompson and Alan Rickman."

"Ooh, I think I like him. Was he in _Harry Potter_?"

"Very good! He's Snape. Now, for comedy and a little mystery, we have: _The Thin Man_. And if you don't like this movie, you are crazy."

"Maybe we should save that for last then," Sarah laughs, "when we're either half-asleep or drunk."

"Trust me, you'll like it," Brian replies, smiling. He holds up the last movie. "And finally, for the action category: _Watchmen_."

Sarah's brow furrows at the title. It was the last movie she'd seen with Chuck in theaters. He and Morgan had nearly gone crazy with anticipation before its release, but they'd let her tag along to the midnight premiere with them. She had enjoyed every moment – waiting in line together, watching his silly grin, getting to spend real, quality time with him for once.

She clears her throat before asking, "Why would you get that?"

Brian looks quizzically at her. "You pick it up almost every time you're in Blockbuster, but you never rent it. It's fantastic, though," he assures her. "I think you'll like it." He slaps his knees. "But it's your choice. Four movies."

"It's pretty early still. We do have all night," she suggests.

"As in we'll totally have time to watch them all?"

"Totally."

"_Watchmen_ is three hours long. You know that, right?" He grins sheepishly. "I got the director's cut."

"I am aware," she replies with a smile.

"Okay then," he chuckles. "We better get started."

"Shall we start with some Jane Austen?"

Brian raises his beer in a toast. "Excellent choice!"

He pops in the movie, and they sit back on the couch to watch and eat ice cream, like they have dozens of times before. She glances over at him, watching the blue of the screen flicker over his face, and suddenly she doesn't feel quite so alone.

**If you wait for someone else's hand  
You'll fall, you'll fall**

The morning is cool and bright, the sun shining in through the bedroom window to greet Sarah. She wakes with a yawn and stretches until she's conscious enough to stumble to her closet and pick out some clothes for the day. As she's rifling through her shirts, a scent assaults her nostrils.

She rushes to the door, pokes her head out, and sniffs.

"Brian?" she calls tentatively.

"Yeah?"

"Is that . . . bacon?"

"You betcha, beautiful," he responds, and she can hear his laugh all the way from the kitchen.

Grinning, Sarah rests her back against the wall. When's the last time someone made her breakfast? Tearing herself away from her complacent idleness, she grabs jeans and a t-shirt before heading down the hallway. The doorbell rings just as she's walking into the bathroom.

"I'm going to take a shower, Brian," she shouts, "Would you mind getting that?"

"No problem."

She shuts the door and hops in the shower, letting her cares slip away as the warm, refreshing water rushes over her skin.

She's been living here, trying to start a new life, but has she really been _living_?

There are no more missions, no more secrets, no more lies, nothing to stand in the way of chasing her dreams. She needs to let go of all the concerns eating at her heart, needs to relax a little and remember how to breathe.

After all, isn't that what she's come here for: to find herself? To figure out _her_ nuances? _Her_ likes and dislikes? The next time someone asks her how she likes her eggs, she'll be able to give a truthful answer, not tell them how her past ten marks/boyfriends have liked _their_ eggs instead.

Exhaling heavily, Sarah steps out of the shower and dries herself off. Maybe tomorrow she'll get to figuring out her dreams, but right now, she'll start with breakfast. The delicious smell makes her stomach rumble, and she dresses quickly in anticipation of the meal.

The kitchen is thick with the aromas of sizzling bacon and eggs, and Sarah pauses a moment to take it in.

"Mmm," she murmurs, "I haven't had bacon in so long."

Brian, standing at the stove, turns around with a laugh. "You did have it in your fridge," he retorts, an amused look on his face.

"I did?"

"Yeah," he laughs, "it was way at the back, but it was there."

"Well, I guess I just haven't had someone _make_ me bacon in so long."

"Ah, big distinction. Gotcha." He scoops some scrambled eggs, a few slices of cinnamon French toast, and some strips of bacon onto a plate and hands it to her.

Sitting at the kitchen table, Sarah takes a bite of the French toast. It's delectable, but a sudden craving for pancakes overtakes her. She swallows it down, along with the French toast, and takes a sip of orange juice.

"This is amazing," she tells him. "You're such a good cook. Thank you."

Brian smiles. "No problem. Thanks for letting me crash here last night."

"It's not a big deal," she shrugs. "I hope the couch wasn't too uncomfortable."

"Not at all. I got a little cold during the night, but I found a sweatshirt in your closet." He points to a black hoodie hanging over the back of his chair that she hadn't noticed before. "And yeah, it's probably good I didn't attempt to drive anywhere last night."

Sarah freezes, her hand arrested in mid-air, scrambled eggs piled on her fork. Swallowing, she sets her fork back down. "You got that from the closet?"

"Yeah," he responds uncertainly, "uh, I hope that's okay."

"No, of course," she assures him, even as she mentally chastises herself for being silly.

Though it's mostly hidden behind his body, she recognizes the hoodie just from its color. It's the only black sweatshirt she has.

Emblazoned with the Nerd Herd logo, he'd left it at her hotel room, and it had been too much to resist when it came time to skip town. She wonders if he ever noticed it was missing, wonders if he would ever suspect why.

Clearing her throat, she looks up and asks, "So who was at the door?"

Brian shrugs. "He said he had the wrong house."

"Oh. That's weird."

"Yeah," Brian agrees. Swallowing a bite of toast, he asks gently, "So you want to tell me about him?"

"Excuse me?"

He shoots her an encouraging smile. "Come on, Sarah. We both know I'm attracted to you, but that doesn't mean I can't be your friend, too." Chuckling, he changes tactics. "This breakfast does not come free, my friend. You wallowed last night. Now it's time to talk."

She postpones an answer by finally taking that bite of eggs. She likes scrambled eggs, she decides, although she still has many more ways to taste them before deciding on her favorite.

Clearly onto her, he continues more gently, "Talk to me, Sarah."

"There's nothing to say."

He nods resignedly. "You mean you don't want to talk to me."

Sarah shakes her head. "That's not what I meant. But . . . I'm dealing with it in my own way."

She's a runner. She's been running all her life, but right now, she's running from her past, from a boy who loves her maybe way too much, from a future she thought she held secure in her hands.

Of course, running away isn't the healthiest option, but it's her way of sorting through things, of making sense of the world. It gives her time to step back, catch her breath, clear her mind.

But she's been here for six months, three thousand miles away from him, and her mind feels just as jumbled as when she left. Shouldn't that be an indication of something?

_Dreams_, she reminds herself. She needs to stop focusing on him and start focusing on herself. It's the only way to move on, the only way to make her life worth something.

She can't tell Brian any of this though. So instead she smiles and asks, "What did Diana tell you?"

"Only that he broke your heart, and that you came here to start over."

"There's not much to add," Sarah replies.

Brian sighs and then asks, "Did you ever think that maybe you're not _supposed_ to get over him, no matter how hard you try?"

Sarah runs a hand through her hair. "If that's true . . . we're at a stalemate right now. How are we ever supposed to get over that?"

"You will," he shrugs. "There's always time. There's always hope."

**I know that I am nothing new  
There's so much more than me and you**

Still full from that breakfast, Sarah bikes to work, her hair wafting in the wind. The mid-November air is chilly but refreshing, and she feels her heart lifting as the sun shines down on her.

Her good mood, though, disappears when she arrives at the bookstore. As she's locking her bike up to a meter, she looks through the window. Diana is chatting with a male customer whose back is to Sarah, but even through the window she can discern his full head of thick, curly hair. Sarah gasps, almost frozen to the sidewalk.

It can't be.

Just when she's trying her damndest to escape from her past, it – _he_ – walks back in on her.

But it is, and she can't put this off any longer.

They're laughing when she opens the door, but he turns around immediately and levels his piercing gaze at her. She stops breathing when he smiles at her, but it's a strained smile, not quite reaching his eyes.

"Sarah," he murmurs.

"Diana," Sarah says, not tearing her gaze from Chuck's, "I need to take my break now."

Diana, perplexed yet intrigued by the dynamic between them, nods. "Of course. Go ahead."

Without another word, Sarah heads toward the break and storage room in the back of the store. Chuck follows obediently, and she shuts the door behind them before pulling him into a warm hug. She wraps her arms around his shoulders, breathes in his familiar, comforting scent. Inhaling deeply, he smiles into her shoulder.

"What was that for?" he asks as they separate.

"I may have left," Sarah tells him softly, sitting down, "but I never stopped caring, Chuck."

He doesn't respond, just takes a seat across from her. She stares at him, taking him in. He does look like he's seen better days. There are bags under his eyes, his shoulders sag with exhaustion, and he's got at least two days' worth of growth on his chin. He's dressed nicely, though, in dark jeans, a black button-down, and a tan leather jacket.

But he looks like he's carrying the weight of the world.

Right now, he's not speaking to her. He won't even look at her. He's hunched over, staring at the table, a slight scowl on his face.

"Why won't you talk to me?" she prompts gently. "Isn't that what you came here for?"

Chuck, giving her the cold shoulder, just traces circles on the tabletop with his thumb.

Sarah bites her lip, waiting for him to say something, _anything_.

"Wait," she says, a spark in her brain suddenly going off and connecting things for her. "Did you come to my house this morning?"

He lifts his head a bit. "Uh . . ."

Sarah puts her head in her hands. "Oh, my God," she mutters. "And Brian opened the door, early in the morning." Looking back up at Chuck, she remembers, "And oh, my God, he was wearing my sweatshirt – _your_ sweatshirt – the one I took from you! Oh, my God," she repeats, reaching out for him. "Nothing went on, Chuck, I swear. I just . . . I had a bad night, and he's my friend. We were up late watching movies, he fell asleep on the couch, he found the sweatshirt. That's all, I promise."

He's been silent during her rambling explanation, but his eyes soften. Finally, he murmurs, "Okay . . . okay." Swallowing, he sits up straight and asks, "How have you been?"

"Okay. And you?"

"Better," he answers quietly.

He does looks like he's seen better days.

"Are you sure you're okay?" she asks, her eyes narrowed. "How are you sleeping?"

Chuck waves her off. "Yeah, yeah. I'm fine."

"All right," Sarah replies, not quite convinced. She stands up and gets them some coffee. "How'd you find me?"

"I knew that Casey knew where you were," he smiles, "so I tried to annoy it out of him."

She lifts an eyebrow as she slides his mug across the table. "'Tried'?"

Chuck shrugs. "He's become strangely resistant to my methods. That or he's still loyal to . . . well, to you." He blushes at the slip-up, but clears his throat and continues, "So I had my sister turn on the charm. And the baking."

"He never could resist Ellie's cooking," she chuckles before taking a sip of coffee.

He laughs. "Yeah, who knew that a dozen chocolate chip cookies could be an assassin's downfall?"

"How is Casey? And how's Ellie? And Awesome and Morgan?" She spits it all out in a deluge of questions, because, save Casey's visit a month ago, she hasn't heard a word about any of them.

"Uh, they're good, I guess. They all miss you, in their own ways." The information warms her, lights a fire in her heart. Before she can assure him how much _she_'s missed _them_, though, he adds in a low voice, "_I _miss you."

And just like that, her heart goes from blazing to breaking.

"Chuck . . ."

Sarah's smile dissolves as she stares at him, a thousand memories flooding her mind. He's sitting there nervously, one palm wrapped around the coffee mug, one hand lying on the table.

Just within reach.

Emboldened, Sarah slides her hand across the table and on top of his. A smile plays over his lips as he twines his thumb around hers.

He swallows. Softly, he postures, "You know why I'm here, don't you?"

She nods, dropping her eyes. "And you know what my answer's going to be."

Chuck pulls his hand away with a deep sigh, and she has to resist the urge to take it back.

"Tell me what I can do, Sarah," he says, his voice pained. "Tell me how to deserve you."

The words tear through her heart. He thinks this is his fault, and leaving him certainly didn't help that impression.

"Chuck, listen to me," she says forcefully. He raises his eyes to hers, and she tells him, "That was never the issue. _You_ were never the issue. If anything, it's me who never deserved you."

He looks like he wants to protest that, but instead shakes his head and pleads, "Then what can we do to fix this? What can I do to convince you to come home?"

_Home_.

He says it so simply, like home is a constant, not something you search all your life for.

She takes a sip of coffee. "I wish I knew, Chuck."

He closes his eyes and sinks back into his seat, looking like the only thing he needs right now is a really long nap. She wants to reach out for him, to brush back his curls and whisper that everything's going to be all right. But that's not her place any more. She gave up that right six months ago.

"I'm sorry," she begins quietly, "for what I said to you before I left. I was heartbroken, and taking my anger out on you."

Chuck, opening his eyes, responds, "I never meant to hurt you. I only wanted to make you proud."

"That's just it, Chuck," Sarah says. "You . . . are so amazing."

"But I can't do it, Sarah. I'm floundering out there. I can't be what Beckman wants me to be."

"Just listen to me. You don't get it, Chuck. You're so much better than what anyone wants of you. You need to stop making decisions based on what you think other people want. In our line of work, there's no such thing as destiny. Heroes choose their own destinies."

"Is that why you're mad at me?" he queries cautiously. "Because I told you I did it for you?"

Sarah swallows, finding it difficult to acknowledge that he's pretty much hit the bull's eye. She's pushed him into this, pushed him into a life where he has to lie to his family, a life where he puts himself in danger, a life where they can't be together. And he's done it all because he thought it'd make her happy to see him as the hero.

Instead of answering, she studies his face – the gaunt lines, the shadows under his eyes. "You look terrible."

He shuffles in his chair and sighs. "Sometimes I just want to give up, you know? I just want to go to sleep and pretend like none of this is happening."

"Everyone wants to give up sometimes. Everyone has a breaking point."

Brow drawn, he gazes at her. "Did you? I mean, did you ever want to give up?"

"Lots of times," she breathes. "But you push through it. You keep going. Even if your heart is breaking." She clears her throat and says, "Or you fix it, if you can."

"Is that what you're doing? Fixing it?"

His voice is soft but accusative, and she straightens at the implication.

"I know you don't understand," she tells him, trying hard to control the intensity in her voice. "You probably _can't_ understand. But it's not about you, Chuck. I've spent my entire life worrying about other people. All I need is some time to figure out what I want from life." Shaking her head, she confesses, "I don't know who I am without you, without the CIA. You can understand why I need some time, can't you?"

Chuck nods. "Of course. I guess things will always be 'complicated', huh?" Dejected, he stands.

"Wait," she says, standing up a walking over to him, a hand on his forearm.

His gaze flickers down to her hand and then over her lips, and for a split second, she thinks he's going to kiss her. She _wants_ him to kiss her, but she also knows that one kiss could be the end of her.

Finally, he says, "It's okay. You've moved on."

Except for the fact that his tone clearly says that he doesn't believe her and that it's _not_ okay. And, despite what he thinks, she has _not_ moved on, as much as she's tried. She lets out a low growl of frustration, because she hasn't even tried to move on from _him_, just tried to move past what they lost and live a life without him beside her. That's not too much to ask, is it? Why can't he understand that?

"Chuck, you don't understand," Sarah pleads, almost pathetically.

"I think I do," he replies softly, the pain evident in his voice. "You have a new life here."

_Without me_, is what she hears.

"Chuck . . . that's not true."

"Isn't it? You have friends, you have a job." He sighs. "You're happy here."

No. She's content. There's a difference. Happy people can laugh off and learn from regrets. Content people carry them around like scars, constant reminders of their mistakes. Contentment is about the balance between past and future, between melancholy and lost bliss.

Before she can argue, Chuck presses a soft, sweet kiss to her lips. She wants to kiss him properly, to smash their lips together and fist her hands in his hair and crush their bodies together, but it's over in only a second or two.

"Just, promise not to forget about me," he implores quietly.

And just like that, he's gone in a whirlwind, leaving her standing there dumbly, her mouth slightly agape. She's stunned, speechless. It's not like him to just give up. It's not like him to not fight for what he wants. And what _she_ wants right now is for him to come back, wants him to scream at her for leaving him.

"I'm not mad at you," she calls suddenly, but he doesn't hear, because he's halfway across the store and her voice is shaking too badly.

A moment later, Diana appears at her side, her gaze directed at the front door, through which Chuck has just disappeared.

"Oh, no," she says. "You did not just let _that_ walk out of here." Sarah, still flabbergasted, can't respond. "Oh, honey," Diana continues, "you're more messed up than I realized."

**But, brother, how we must atone  
Before we turn to stone**

"Thank you. Have a great day!" Sarah says brightly, handing the customer her bag and sending her out into the mid-January evening.

The customer walks out just as another one walks in, and Sarah's heart pounds as she recognizes the shuffling gait and mussed brown hair. He walks up to the counter, a kind smile on his face.

"Hello, Sarah," he greets.

"Mr. Bartowski," she replies, and she smiles instinctively, because he reminds her of crazy, amazing days she shared with his son and because looks so happy to see her. Seeing his open arms, she walks around the counter and into his embrace. He hugs her like a daughter, and the gesture is enough to choke her up. "It's so nice to see you," she says.

Steve breaks off the hug. "It's been too long, hasn't it?"

Nodding, Sarah leans against the counter. "Do you want some coffee or something? We have some in the back."

He shakes his head. "No, thanks." Glancing at his watch, he says, "I was actually hoping that I could take you to lunch or something. My treat."

She's agreeing before she even decides to agree. "Yeah, of course. Just let me tell my coworker I'm taking my break early."

He nods, and she heads off toward the back of the store. Diana's in the history section with a customer, but she gets the message. After grabbing her jacket from the break room, Sarah returns to the front where Mr. Bartowski waits with his hands in the pockets of his jeans.

"Ready?" he asks, his manner and tone so eerily reminiscent of his son's that she's taken aback for a second.

With a smile, she answers, "Ready."

He defers to her judgment, since she's been living here for eight months now, and she takes him to a small, cozy diner a few blocks away.

"You look well," Steve notes as they slide into a booth.

"Thanks. I've been doing all right for myself." She drops her eyes, pretending to be preoccupied with the menu but really trying to figure out the best way to navigate the inevitable conversation. "How have you been?"

Mr. Bartowski, seeming to catch on to her nervousness, glances at the menu himself. "Not too bad," he nods. Clearing his throat, he asks, "So do you like working at the bookstore?"

She knows what he's getting at. How could she have traded in a life of excitement for a seemingly boring one, traded guns and explosions for books and customer service? "Yeah," she smiles. "I do like it. It's a nice . . . change of pace."

"Now that I can believe."

The waitress comes over, and they order drinks, and Sarah's just about to ask how Chuck is when Steve gets straight down to business.

"Sarah," he says in that stumbling yet intense way he has, "I think you know why I came here, and I'm not going to beat around the bush." He lifts his eyes to her in supplication. "My son needs you," he urges, "and I'd like you to come back home. We all would like that."

"Mr. Bartowski . . . as much as I miss him, I can't go back."

"Will you explain it to me?" When she hesitates, he adds, "You'd be surprised at how much I'd understand."

Sarah takes a gulp of her water. "I gave up that life for a reason. I can't just change my mind and go back."

"Why'd you give it up?"

"It was too much," she breathes. "I struggled so long with my feelings for him, but I was ready to give it all up for him."

"Really?" he asks, sounding a little incredulous. But his voice is gentle when he queries, "You would have given up your career to stay in Burbank and become a housewife?"

Sarah hesitates thoughtfully before saying, "Yeah. Beckman gave me another assignment, to work on the new Intersect project, but . . . I was ready to stay."

"And then you left anyway." It's not an accusation, simply a statement.

Dropping her eyes, she answers, "Because staying would have meant another two years, maybe, of holding back, of pretending I don't care for him."

"It's agonizing, isn't it?"

Sarah meets his gaze in surprise, but he's strangely unable to read. The waitress returns, ready to take their order and provide them both with a distraction from the conversation.

After the waitress leaves with their orders, Steve turns back to her and says, "You know, when Beckman made him an agent, I thought –"

"What?" She interrupts, her voice so soft that it's barely audible over the noise and other conversations in the diner.

Steve's expression softens and his shoulders sag. "You didn't know."

"He never told me," she shakes her head. Holding his gaze, she asks, "When?"

He sighs. "Shortly after . . . everything."

She lets out a quiet, breathy chuckle. Everything did seem to happen in that week – Steve's rescue, Ellie's wedding, that almost wake-up call in Barstow. Sighing, Sarah rests her chin on her folded hands.

If only it hadn't been 'almost.' If only they'd been strong enough to make it work.

"Why?" she asks.

With a shrug, Steve replies, "I think he did it for you. It's like, for the past eight months, he's been trying to prove himself. The only thing is you're not around to see it."

She rubs her eyes wearily, runs a hand through her hair. "I already know how much of a hero he is. He didn't need to do this for me, especially not if it means he's constantly in harm's way."

"I'm sure Casey told you that he's . . . not exactly what Beckman expected."

Sarah chuckles. "No, I can believe that."

"He's a good agent, has good instincts. But truthfully, he lets his emotions get in the way too much. This new Intersect doesn't work the same way, and it's erratic."

"What's going to happen to him?"

Unexpectedly, Steve smiles. "That's what I came to talk to you about." She looks at him curiously, and he explains, "Beckman's rearranging the project. I'm almost finished with a reverse Intersect, one that will take all the secrets and abilities out of Chuck's brain. After that, Chuck becomes an analyst, and he and I rebuild the second version of the Intersect so it can be better utilized."

"In another agent's head?"

"That's the hope," he nods.

"But Chuck will be an analyst."

"Yep."

The news simultaneously staggers and thrills her. After all, there are no rules concerning whom analysts can date, no caution tape protecting analysts like there is protecting assets. His change in status leaves their way wide open, no matter if she chooses to stay a civilian or rejoin as an agent.

Suddenly, Sarah can't hold back a laugh.

Grinning widely, Steve joins in. "I take it that means you're coming home?"

But Sarah's smile fades just as quickly as it appeared. How can she just pack up and leave like none of this ever happened, like none of it even _mattered_?

"I can't . . ." she falters.

Steve, perplexed, asks, "What?"

She shakes her head. "I can't just pick up my life and act like I didn't come here for a reason, not when I still have so much to figure out."

Steve sighs. "It'll still be a few weeks before we can get the Intersect out of his head, you know."

Nodding, she takes in his implicit open-ended offer. "I promise to come back, Mr. Bartowski," she says, "to come home. Just not now. I still need a little more time."

He slides a hand over hers and gives it a light squeeze. "Of course, Sarah. Take your time. Just remember that we're waiting for you." He smiles, a warm-hearted smile that reminds her she's part of a _family_ now, and adds, "When you're ready."

Sarah swallows down the tears in her throat. "Thank you, Mr. Bartowski."

"Please, call me Steve."

**Brother, how we must atone  
Before we turn to stone  
Before we turn to stone**

Sarah waits for him at the fountain.

It's hard for her to fathom, being back like nothing's changed. But eight months have passed, Chuck and his dad are now sharing Ellie's old apartment, and her heart's beating wildly at the prospect of seeing him again. She's rejected him twice now. What if he doesn't want her anymore?

But before she can follow that train of thought, she hears the familiar sound of his footsteps on the cobblestones, the recognizable tones of his voice. Sitting up straight, she braces for impact.

He rounds the corner, talking on his cell phone, a messenger bag slung over his shoulder, his eyes glued to the ground.

"No, Ellie," he laughs. "I swear I won't spend Valentine's Day alone playing video games. . . . Plans? Uh, not exactly, not yet. . . . But I'm working on it. I _promise_."

Sarah takes a deep breath, trying to force air into her lungs. He looks good, much better than he did the last time she saw him.

Chuck glances up briefly and looks back down, doing a double take when his mind registers who exactly is sitting on the fountain in front of him. The phone clatters to the floor; his bag falls into a heap on the stones.

And he stares at her, his feet rooted to the spot. Unsure of how to start, Sarah offers him a hesitant smile.

"Are you really here?" he breathes. "Please don't tell me I'm dreaming."

Standing, Sarah lets out a soft chuckle. "If I were your dream, why would I want to tell you that you were dreaming?"

"Wow," he laughs, "that logic could not have come from my own subconscious."

They stand there, across from each other, for a moment before Chuck finally breaks the gaze and scoops her into a tight embrace. "Oh, my God," he breathes into her shoulder. "I can't believe you're back. What are you doing here? Wait." He pulls back, holding her by the shoulders, to look her in the eye. "You're here to stay, right?"

Suddenly choked up, Sarah nods. Chuck breaks out into a surprised grin.

"I just, I can't believe it," he says.

"I've missed you so much," she says as she slides her palms against his chest. "And you should know how sorry I am for leaving, for leaving you."

Almost crying now, she has to take a deep breath to calm herself down. He cups her cheek with one hand, a smile lighting up his face. Before she can explain herself, though, before she can properly apologize for the pain she's caused him, she feels his lips against hers, uncertain at first, then bolder, more confident. She tries to pour everything she has into that kiss, tries to let him know everything she's aching to confess. And when Chuck gently breaks off the kiss, she finds herself breathless.

Stroking her cheek with his thumb, he exhales contentedly and rests his forehead against hers. "So what happens now?" he questions softly. "How is this going to work?"

Sarah brushes another kiss against his lips. "Why don't we figure everything out in the morning?" she suggests with a shy smile. "Tomorrow _is_ Valentine's Day after all."

Chuck's grin disappears quickly and his shoulders slump as he extracts himself from their embrace. "As much as I'd like to forget about all of this, Sarah," he begins, "I can't just act like you didn't abandon me right when I needed you most."

"Of course," she nods, not sure if he's completely rebuffing her or just asking for a good enough explanation. She takes a deep, shaky breath and runs a hand through her hair. He's always known how to calm her or put her on edge, and right now, the look in his eyes is doing nothing to compose her nerves. "I'm . . . I'm no good at this," she confesses quietly, shaking her head and sinking back down onto the edge of the fountain. "I don't handle things well. I don't really handle them at all. I just . . . run away, hoping everything will work out on its own."

Obviously frustrated, Chuck sighs heavily and accuses, "So you just run away, without thinking about how much that hurts other people? People you love, people who love _you_?"

Sarah closes her eyes briefly to shut out the blame. He's right, of course, but his harsh tone cuts a little too deeply. She swallows, wringing her hands nervously. "Sometimes, when I get scared," she breathes, "it's easier for me to just . . . not act, you know? . . . And there was so much I needed to figure out."

Sitting down beside her, Chuck frowns. "You could have come to me, instead of pushing me away. The very first thing you ever asked of me was to trust you, and after two years you couldn't do the same for me."

Keeping her gaze trained on her sneakers, Sarah finds she has a hard time gathering her breath. How can he possibly make her feel so small with only a few words? Softly, almost inaudibly, she pleads, "I'm not used to trusting anyone."

Softening, Chuck slips his hand over hers. "Well, that's something we'll have to work on then."

She looks up at him questioningly, but he just smiles.

"I guess we have a lot to work on," she suggests hesitantly.

"Yeah," he replies as his gaze settles on their connected hands. "But we've faced tougher situations before, right?"

"Chuck . . ." Sarah encloses his hand firmly in both of hers, never wanting to let go. "I'm sorry for not thinking about how my decision would affect you."

"Sarah," he responds, cupping her cheek and placing a gentle kiss on her forehead, "we've always had a bit of a problem with miscommunication. What matters now is that you're here, and that you're willing to work on this when things get sticky."

"I am," she assures him. "I'm in this, Chuck. I'm mad in this."

Smiling, he brushes another kiss against her lips. "That's all I need to hear. Now what do you say we go inside so we can catch up properly?"

"I'd say that's a very good idea," Sarah replies, unable to keep the grin off her face.

Later that night, as they lie entangled, Sarah listens to his quiet breathing, and a sense of calm suffuses her as his chest rises and falls beneath her arm. He's not asleep though, because he plays with her loose hair, idly twisting strands around his fingers. She could stay here forever, just lying beside him, just basking in him.

She flips onto her stomach, lying across his torso, and threads her fingers into his hair.

"Chuck," she murmurs sleepily, "there's so much I want to say to you, so much you need to know."

Chuck reaches up to palm her cheek. "You've already apologized to me a dozen times, Sarah. Besides, I thought we were going to figure this out in the morning," he says. "You know, over pancakes and milkshakes?"

"Milkshakes?" she chuckles. But then she sighs, resting her chin on his chest.

"Listen, Sarah," he whispers, smiling, "we both have so much to say." He sits up, pulling her up with him, and kisses her brow. "I need to apologize for not taking your feelings into consideration. I was thinking about you, without actually thinking about you . . . if that makes any sense." He shoots her a quizzical look, and she laughs softly.

"But you didn't do anything wrong," she tells him. "You followed your gut, tried to protect people you loved, and I feel like you thought I was punishing you for stepping up like that."

"No, no, no," he shakes his head, threading his fingers through her hair. "I was confused . . . pulled in so many directions. My only constant was you."

She drops her head against his shoulder. "And then I left."

Chuck, his finger under her chin, coaxes her to lift her head to look at him. "But you came back."

Sliding her hands up his chest, she looks at him forcefully and says, "You know why I needed to go, though, don't you? You know now that I wasn't leaving _you_? I was leaving . . . a life I didn't recognize anymore. I was leaving a person I didn't even know."

He laugh softly. "You know, I have the feeling we're going to spend the rest of our lives trying to apologize to each other for something beyond our control. But Sarah . . ." He offers her one of his characteristic lopsided grins and runs a hand through her hair. "Don't you see how much time we'll waste if we worry about all the stuff that's in the past? We'll drive ourselves crazy. All I want to do right now is be with you," he murmurs, his breath tickling her cheek. "We could have all the time in the world if we'd just forgive each other, and ourselves."

Smiling, she presses a deep, desperate kiss to his lips.

"So tell me," he says as they settle back against the mattress, "what did you learn on your quest to find yourself?"

Chuckling quietly, Sarah snuggles into him and rests her head on his shoulder. "I learned that I love the smell of the sea. I never really stopped to notice it before . . . And I like Edith Wharton, but I don't like Henry James."

"No?" Chuck laughs.

"No, too wordy. There's too much cluttering up the characters," she replies, tracing circles onto his chest. "And I like to play softball and ride bikes. And do puzzles. Did you know that? Because I didn't."

"No, I didn't. Regular ones or those cool 3D ones?"

"Both!"

"Nice."

"We should do one together sometime."

Chuck takes up her hand, entwines their fingers. "I'd like that."

"Chuck?"

"Hmmm . . ."

She pauses before asking, "How would you like to visit Charleston some time?"

He goes back to stroking her hair. "Like, to meet your friends?"

"Yeah," she whispers.

"I'd love that." He chuckles. "Maybe this time I'll be the one opening the door in your sweatshirt."

Laughing, she plants a kiss on his cheek, suddenly realizing that he's right – they do have all the time in the world. And this time, she's determined not to waste it.

"Chuck?"

"Yeah?"

"I should I have told you this a long time ago, but I love you."


	35. Middle Ground

Song: "Middle Ground," by Vertical Horizon. (I very much encourage you to check out their latest CD, _Burning the Days_. It's fantastic, plus it reminds me a lot of Charah, haha.)

A/N: Thanks to everyone who reviewed the last chapter and answered my questions! Just so you know, I'm planning on writing this story for as long as I can. :)

A thousand thank-yous to **BillatWork**, **GoldenGirl**, and **yokaputo**! All three of them read this thing over twice (believe me, not an easy feat!), and gave me the most helpful comments. So I'm very, very appreciative. :)

**FL**'s _Who Are You? Challenge_ is still going on. There are some great authors participating! Check it out!

**

* * *

You illuminate me  
You're the color I see  
You're all that shines above  
Through the dark and distrust**

Jamming his hands into his pockets, Chuck Bartowski can't begin to fathom why he's so nervous.

After all, he's picked his wife up from the airport countless times. And it's not as if she's not expecting him, not as if she hadn't asked him to be here.

This is their routine. She leaves for business; he meets her at the airport, or the bus terminal, or even the car rental station. This is their thing.

So why does something feel so different this time? Maybe it's the scent of fall hanging in the air, just waiting to break once October hits. Maybe it's the fact that she had to leave for this trip right after their first anniversary. Maybe it's the ache in his heart when he wakes up in the morning and she's not beside him.

Chuck takes a deep breath, inhaling the fresh aroma from the bouquet of gardenias in his hand. He's crushing the paper, his hand is so tightly clenched. The scent fills his lungs, calms him. He associates it so much with his wife that when he closes his eyes and breathes it it's like he's seeing her, like she's standing right in front of him.

"Chuck!"

His eyes bolt open.

Across the terminal stands a 5' 9'' beaming bundle of blonde energy. And she's all his.

Grinning, he moves toward her, but she's already there. She's already there in front him, dropping her bag, jumping into his arms, and smashing her lips against his. They're tangled together, right in the middle of the airport, and Sarah can't seem to tear her fingers from his hair. Euphoric, he spins her around.

"I've missed you so much," she murmurs against his mouth as he slows their momentum and gently touches her back to the ground.

"You've barely been gone a week," he chuckles, holding her close.

Her arms still around his neck and a smile on her face, Sarah sighs. "I know. But a week without you feels as long as a year." Closing her eyes, she rests her forehead against his. A shiver goes down his spine as her thumb traces torturous circles on the back of his neck. "Not to mention," she continues, "that I had to miss our anniversary."

"So we celebrated a few days early," he shrugs. "No biggie."

She pulls back to stare at him. "It was a big deal. It's our _first anniversary_, Chuck. How can you say it's not a big deal?"

Smiling, he breaks their embrace and holds the bouquet up for her. "I brought you these," he says.

"You didn't have to do that."

"I wanted to."

They slip into their routine – Chuck shouldering Sarah's carry on, the two of them twining their hands together and meandering towards baggage claim.

"Well, thank you," she replies with a smile as she gives the flowers a hearty sniff. "They're beautiful."

"You're welcome," he says. Their arms swing as they wind through the crowded terminal, and he can't seem to take his eyes off their connected hands. "Hey, listen," he says, "Ellie wants us to come over for dinner tonight. I told her it was fine with me, but I wanted to check with you first."

"Of course," Sarah nods.

"You sure? If you're too tired –"

"Chuck, please," she laughs, "your sister's cooking can cure anything, including jet lag." She gives his hand a squeeze. "Besides, I want to spend time with you."

Chuck allows a grin to spring to his lips as they wind their way through the airport, hands and hearts entwined.

**All the doubt in your eyes  
All the stars in mine  
Is it the distance you need  
Or is it just me?**

Chuck smiles broadly as he watches the scene play out. Ellie, ever pushy in her effusive and gentle way, won't take 'no' for an answer as she hands off her three-month-old daughter, Rachel, to a slightly terrified-looking Sarah, who tries her best to shrink from the bundle.

"Come on," Ellie coaxes sweetly. "Just for a minute."

Reluctantly, Sarah sighs and lets Ellie shift Rachel into her arms. She frowns as she adjusts her arms, sliding a hand beneath the baby's head.

She's good with the baby, and Rachel takes to her aunt, giggling and latching on to Sarah's fingers with her tiny hand. Sarah laughs, delighted at the contact, but her laugh quickly fades, replaced by a thoughtful, melancholy frown.

Chuck can't take his eyes off of her. Ever since they started dating, he's felt like the luckiest man alive. Gorgeous and extroverted and intelligent, she had no reason to be interested in a loser like him, still working in the Buy More after being unceremoniously kicked out of Stanford by his ex-best friend. After he'd fixed her cell phone, he'd thought he'd never see her again. Apparently with other plans in mind, she had come back the next day, had waltzed into the store with no other goal in mind but to talk to him. And four years later, here they are, married.

He's _married_ to this stunning woman.

He twists the metal band on his finger just to make sure it's not all a dream.

"So when are you two going to give us a little niece or nephew?"

Devon's voice calls him out of his reverie, and he glances up to find both him and Ellie looking expectantly at him.

"Soon."

"Not for a while."

Chuck ignores his sister's curious expression in favor of staring at his wife. Hadn't they talked about this? Hadn't she told him she wanted kids?

Sarah lets out a nervous little laugh. She avoids his gaze and looks down at Rachel as she says, "Obviously we haven't discussed it in depth."

Chuck swallows thickly, keeping his gaze trained on his wife, but Sarah refuses to meet his eye. An awkward silence descends upon the living room, and he takes a gulp of wine.

"Well, hey," Devon booms helpfully, "no rush. There's always time."

Chuck shoots him a strained smile, but he can't help the feeling rushing through his chest that something's _missing_.

As they walk home a few hours later, the feeling lingers. The night is chilly, chilly enough for Sarah to lean into him for heat and snake her arm through his. But her touch, far from calming him, only serves to upset him more.

They'd talked about this; they'd talked about kids. She had _told_ him she wanted kids. Had she said that just for his benefit? Was she planning on telling him she really _didn't_ want kids years into their marriage? Or had she just changed her mind and hadn't thought of a way to tell him yet? If that was true, what else had she changed her mind about?

What if she was starting to rethink the decision to spend her life with him?

He hates that a future he once could see – with a house and a yard, and a romping dog, and _children_ – dissolves in front of his eyes, and all because of a few words from his wife.

Irrationally irritated, he jams his hands into his pockets without a word and looks up at the night sky.

Obviously feeling the rebuff, she extracts her arm and hugs her torso for warmth. Mercifully, their walk is short, because he doesn't think he has the strength to keep this up for very long. But right now, his frustration is winning out over his sympathy.

She's quiet as they enter their apartment, heading straight for their bedroom. He removes his jacket, hangs it on the hook behind the door, and collapses onto the couch. When she realizes he isn't following her, she turns around.

"Aren't you coming?" she asks.

"I'll be in soon," he answers wearily, not bothering to turn around.

But instead of getting up, he waits for her to leave and picks up his Xbox controller. He plays out his aggravation, slamming the buttons with uncharacteristic violence. It's not until an hour later that he realizes his exhaustion isn't stemming from the video game, but from ignoring the source of his problems. With a heavy sigh, he slumps against the sofa cushions.

He rakes a hand through his unruly curls, startled when he hears movement from the hallway. He swivels on the couch to see Sarah in the archway.

"Sarah," he murmurs, suddenly ashamed of the way he's been acting. He's been unfairly blaming something that neither of them can control on _her_. How stupid can he be?

She saunters out of the darkness of the hallway and into the living room, illuminated by the blue glow of the television screen, and he gulps when he realizes that she's wearing a barely-there black nightie. The nightie is wrinkled, her hair mussed, but all he sees is how beautiful she is.

She stops right in front of him, reaches down, and places her hand on his arm, slowly running her hand down his skin until their fingers meet.

"Coming to bed now?" she asks softly, her voice honey to his ears.

"Y-yeah," he stammers, absurdly nervous. Her touch sets his nerves on fire, and the look in her eyes is doing nothing to calm the throbbing of his heart.

A soft smile gracing her lips, she pulls him up off the couch and leads him down the hallway. He's mesmerized by her, intoxicated by her scent, and the realization only makes him feel more foolish over his recent behavior. Standing close behind her, he rests a hand on her hip and buries his nose in her neck.

"Sarah," he breathes, "I'm –"

"Shh," she replies. "You don't have to say anything."

But she's smiling as she pulls him into the bedroom, and he knows just by her look that he's been forgiven.

**I know you're awake**  
'**Cause you shake when you cry  
As long as I wait I've got nothing but time**

His peaceful slumber is interrupted by a terrified shout. Dragging himself to consciousness with a groan, Chuck pries open his eyes and sits up. Sarah's awake and out of bed, wiping the sweat off her forehead and pulling a robe over her shoulders, an agitated look on her face. He glances at the clock on the bedside table – 5:07. He's been asleep for barely three hours.

Sighing, he rubs his eyes and leans against the headboard. "What's the matter?" he asks softly.

She doesn't answer, just frantically knots her robe. "I'm going to make some tea," she tells him, pointedly avoiding his eyes. "Do you want some?"

He shakes his head. He scrambles for a t-shirt, locates one half-under the bed, and pulls it over his head. "Another nightmare?"

She doesn't take kindly to the question. She moves toward the hall, and he thinks she's not even going to acknowledge that he's spoken, but she pauses in the doorway and replies, an unconvincing smile on her face, "I'm fine, Chuck."

And just like that, she's gone.

Chuck sighs.

_Fine_.

This is how it always goes. She shuts herself down, shuts off her emotions, and no matter how hard he tries, he can't get in. She's the strongest person he knows, and yet she can't seem to see where her strength lies. She looks for it in herself, in her job, in anything but where it actually is. She runs and hides and bottles it all up.

And for some reason, she can't see that he's _right_ _here_, ready and so willing to be what she needs.

All right. If she wants space, he'll give her space. After all, he's been giving her space for the past four years.

He grabs the remote from the bed stand and flips on the television, slinking down in bed. But he can only endure early morning sitcoms for so long. After nearly twenty minutes, he throws off the covers, gets out of bed, and walks out of the room.

Sarah's in the living room, curled up on the couch with a blanket over her, a mug of tea in her hands and a cell phone cradled against her ear. He can hear her talking rapidly yet quietly as he approaches, but she quickly ends the call when she sees him.

Sinking onto the opposite end of the couch, he mutters, "Hey."

She takes a long draught of tea. "Hey."

They sit in silence for a moment, and Sarah slides her blanket-covered feet onto his lap. He can't prevent the smile that comes across his lips at the action, and he automatically begins to massage her feet.

Averting his gaze from hers, he asks, "Are you coming back to bed?"

She lifts her mug. "When I finish my tea."

Chuck nods, somehow not placated. "What kind of tea is it?"

"Chamomile."

Pursing his lips, he glances over toward the kitchen, where an open bottle of vodka stands on the table. He swallows. "Just chamomile?"

Sarah, ever observant, notices his look and answers, "I'm an adult, Chuck. Surely I can put a little vodka in my tea without judgment from my husband."

"That's just it," he says, turning to her with a passionate gleam in his eye. "I'm your husband, Sarah. Why don't you talk to me?"

She drops her gaze and takes another sip. Just when he's about to give up, about to call it quits for the night, she murmurs, "I don't want you to worry."

Chuck turns back to her, suddenly attuned to the sorrow etched into her face. "Sarah . . ." He shakes his head, leaning forward to hold her face in his hand. "Lots of people have nightmares. I don't even care if you tell me about them. I just want you to talk to me, to let me know you're okay." His head droops as he sighs. "Don't shut me out like this."

He's leaning so far forward that he's nearly lying on top of her now. Setting the mug down on the coffee table, Sarah takes his face between her hands, presses a deep kiss to his lips, and runs her fingers through his messy hair.

"I'll be in in a few minutes, okay?"

Chuck breathes a heavy sigh as he disentangles himself and gets off the sofa. He turns his back on her and retreats to the bedroom, finding that he forgot to turn off the television. He snatches the remote from the pillow, jabs at the 'off' button, a scowl on his face, and throws himself on top of the covers.

He hates that she shuts him out like this, hates that she feels she can't talk to him. More than that, though, he hates the ever more prominent feeling that their marriage is slipping through his fingers, and that he can't figure out a way to stop it. How is he supposed to support someone who won't even talk to him about her problems?

He's almost asleep when she tiptoes into the room, but he keeps his eyes shut.

"Chuck?" she asks softly, sliding into bed beside him and pulling the covers up around him.

Feigning sleep, he makes no answer, but if she sees through his ruse, she gives no indication.

"You're mad at me, I know," she murmurs as she lies down. "But things are . . . complicated. I want kids with you, I really do. Whenever I look at you, whenever I look at Rachel, I see what our future could be. I see a little girl with your curls and your laugh. Or a little boy who's inherited his dad's goofy grin and affinity for science fiction movies. And I want that so much I can feel it in my bones, Chuck." Swallowing, she strokes his hair and adds, "But I'm not ready. Not right now."

She rolls onto her side, towards him, and slides an arm across his back.

"Someday you'll understand," she whispers.

**Take me in or just take me out  
Put me on if you must or just put me down**  
'**Cause I'm doneI'm all worn out  
We're either alive or a lie  
I'm done with the middle ground**

She confuses him.

Sure, he knows that her favorite flowers are gardenias, that her favorite breakfast food is pancakes, that she can't stand olives. But sometimes, he can't help but feel that his wife is a complete enigma to him, maybe to the world.

Why she's making him breakfast this morning, for instance, and why he scarcely has the courage to get out of bed and greet her, are two things he can't answer right now, two things he doesn't even want to think about.

But it's Sarah. And when she gets it into her head to do something for him, she can't let it rest. Besides, after her speech last night, the one she'd thought he hadn't heard, he should be inclined to forgive her. But the fact that she can only talk to him while she thinks he's asleep leaves a bitter taste on his tongue.

She waltzes into the bedroom like last night never even happened, a plate of blueberry pancakes in her hands.

"I brought you breakfast," she announces softly, her voice full of hope.

More like a peace offering.

Chuck opens his eyes and lets out a low groan. She slips under the sheets beside him, nudging his shoulder, and he hoists himself into a sitting position against the headboard.

She slides the plate onto his lap and looks at him expectantly. Taking a breath, he cuts himself a bite.

"They're delicious," he tells her. "As always."

Sarah smiles, and Chuck, returning the look, holds out his fork to her and offers it to her. She accepts it graciously, accepts his wordless apology.

"Thank you," he murmurs, sliding an arm around her and pulling her close.

His kiss gets lost in her blonde hair, untidy after a restless night, but she gets it.

They lie there – splitting pancakes and watching the morning cartoons and laughing – and sometimes it's enough to just share something so simple. It's mornings like this, the uncluttered ones, that Chuck feels like he's right where he's supposed to be.

He takes a deep breath, gazing at the poster hanging on the adjacent wall. It was his anniversary gift – an original _Star Wars_ posted, signed by George Lucas. Right next to it is a framed comic book, the first issue of Brian Vaughn's _Ex Machina_, signed by the author. He has no idea how she managed to pull it off, but she had.

_First anniversary_, she had said with a coy smile. _That's paper, right?_

He chuckles softly at the memory, stroking his wife's hair. And he had thought he'd done a good job with the personalized photo album he'd put together for her and the first edition of _The Scarlet Pimpernel_, her favorite book, that he'd somehow found.

"Let's do something today," he suggests.

"Hmm, like what?"

"I don't know," he shrugs. "Go to the museum, go to a Lakers game. I just want to spend time with you."

Sarah, snaking her arms around his waist, looks up at him with a grin. "I'd like that."

He presses a kiss to her forehead. "Good."

She squeezes his torso, and her words are almost lost in the noise of the television.

"I've missed you."

**You're the wind at my back  
You're the courage I lack  
But you live your life like a war  
What are you fighting for?**

Early morning light bleeds in through the curtains, and he groans, shifting underneath the sheets to get away from the brightness. A soft chuckle emanates from the corner of the room. Chuck opens his eyes, squinting, and lifts his head to see his wife gazing at him, her expression torn between amused and melancholic.

Chuck rubs his eyes and looks down at himself, struck by the contrast between them. She's fully dressed, in jeans, a black tee, and a black leather jacket; while he's wearing nothing thanks to the previous night. As he sits up to stretch, the sheets fall around his lap and expose his bare chest. He smiles sheepishly, but the sight seems to awaken something in Sarah. She moves to sit on the side of the mattress and leans forward to cup his face with one palm.

He leans into her touch, reaches a hand up to meet her arm. "I wish you could stay longer," he breathes, kissing the heel of her hand.

"Me, too," she replies quietly, "but I'll be back soon enough."

Snaking an arm around her waist, he closes his eyes and rests his forehead against hers. "When do you have to leave? Can I at least make you breakfast?"

"If by 'making breakfast,' you really mean handing me a granola bar or toasting some pop tarts, then sure." She chuckles, but it fades as she catches the look on his face. "Hey," she says. "I'll be back as soon as I can. I _promise_."

"In time for Thanksgiving?"

"Definitely."

He nods, swallows down the lump in his throat. "Okay."

Determined to relish these last few morning moments with his wife, Chuck climbs out of bed to throw on boxers and an old Nerd Herd t-shirt. Sarah, apparently unable to resist the reminder of their first days together, runs a hand up his chest and into his hair before capturing his lips with her own.

In the kitchen, she grabs a bagel and throws it into the toaster as he pours coffee into a travel mug for her.

Even in the early morning, with her hair pulled into a tight ponytail and a grim smile on her face in expectation of the day's commute, she's gorgeous. His breath catches in his throat as he gazes at her, staggered by her, still amazed – after four years – by the fact that she chose him. As she hovers over the counter, waiting for her bagel to toast, he sidles up behind her, awash in her presence, inhaling her scent in an effort to keep it in his lungs until she returns from her business trip.

Sarah turns around abruptly.

"What are you doing?" she asks, a smirk playing over her lips.

"Nothing," he assures her, smiling. "Nothing at all."

Squinting at him, she nods. "Uh-huh. Sure."

She gives him a peck on the lips, leaving him grinning from ear to ear, before turning around to spread jelly over her bagel. Outside, a car horn sounds.

Sarah sighs, her shoulders slumping.

"That's my cab."

Even in his sleepwear, Chuck insists on walking her out, because, even if it will be for just a few more minutes, he wants to just be near her. She shoulders her duffel bag, and, fingers entwined, they walk out the front door.

The early morning November air is chilly, but Sarah's hand is warm in his as they walk out to the taxi. She opens the back door, throws her bag in, and turns back to him, an anguished expression on her face.

He slides his finger under her chin. "Hey," he says softly, "smile for me."

She obliges, letting a sad smile spread on her lips before listening to his unspoken request and kissing him.

"Tell me that you'll wait for me," she whispers, pressing her forehead to his.

Chuckling quietly, he snakes his arms around her waist. "Hold me . . ."

". . . like you'll never let me go," Sarah finishes in song, her smile wider now.

As she threads her fingers into his curls, they sing together, "Oh, babe, I hate to go."

Sarah laughs softly at their routine before pressing a kiss to his lips.

They must look an incongruous pair, Sarah fully dressed and beautiful as always, he still in boxers and a rumpled tee. But he doesn't care. All he cares about is the feel of her in his arms, about the gentle touch of her lips on his.

Reluctantly, he pulls away and hands her into the cab. She rolls down the window for a last look. Neither of them says 'goodbye,' neither of them mentions love, but they don't have to; he can see it in her eyes, in her smile. The cab pulls away, and she sticks her head out the window for a final wave.

Waving, Chuck steps off the curb and takes a few steps after the departing taxi. The cab disappears around the corner before he stops and, heart heavy, retreats inside. He shuffles back into the kitchen, already planning to eat some breakfast and then distract himself by going in to work, even if it is Saturday.

As he shambles across the tile floor to the refrigerator, a folder on the counter catches his eye. When a closer look reveals that it's Sarah's, not his, he picks it up and carries it into her office.

The room is small, because she tries to do as little work at home as possible, and, since he has his own home office, he rarely comes in here. It's neat, the desk bare save for her computer and a photo frame. Walking across the room, he sets the folder onto the desk.

He's about to leave when he catches sight of the picture. With a grin, Chuck picks up the frame for a close look. It's one of them on their honeymoon, on a camping trip in Moab, Utah. He's no outdoorsman, but Sarah had insisted on it, and she'd been right – Moab was magical. As he sets the frame down, he knocks her computer mouse, and the monitor turns on.

He rolls his eyes. How many times has he told her not to leave her computer on when she goes away? He moves to shut it down, but his attention is diverted by an open web browser in the taskbar. As he moves the mouse over it, intending to close it, he notices that it's for the Greyhound Bus Line website.

Chuck swallows.

He's not a snooper. No, as taciturn as she is sometimes, and as frustrated as he gets with her silence sometimes, he trusts his wife.

But the website sets off a glaring red flag in his mind. Hadn't she said she was flying?

His eyes half-closed in fear of what he'll find, he clicks to maximize the browser, and suddenly the evidence is staring him in the face, unnerving him.

Who cares if she had told him she was flying?

The real question is: what was Sarah doing with a receipt for a bus ticket to Mexico when she told him she was going to Pittsburgh?

**Your touch is the water that gives and takes away  
So I wait in the gutter for another rainy day**

Chuck purses his lips as he studies his reflection in the full-length mirror.

He hates it when she's away – hates waking up without her, hates missing her so much. But mostly, he misses the little things, like having her here to tell him he looks suitable for work.

Even that, though, sends a pang through his heart now. Every thought he has of her is tainted by the knowledge of her deception, whether innocent or not.

He sighs. His chin is smooth, his hair combed into acceptable submission, and the green pinstriped button-down he has on adequately matches his black slacks.

But his tie.

He lets out a low growl as he struggles with the tie.

Before he gets a chance to fix it though, his attention is distracted by commotion from the kitchen. Chuck pauses, his hands frozen, fingers grasping the silk material of the tie. Eyebrows drawn, he looks out into the hallway.

"Sarah?" he calls cautiously, willing himself not to believe it, because he hasn't heard a word from her in the week and a half she's been gone, and because she always calls before she comes home. And he almost always picks her up from the airport, or the bus station, or the car rental place.

There's no answer, just the sound of cabinets banging as the mysterious intruder helps him- or herself to a mug of coffee. Alarmed and yet curious, Chuck grabs a lightsaber sitting on a shelf and extends the plastic blade as he walks down the hallway. It's probably just Morgan, and he's probably just forgotten to tell him that he needs a ride to work today, but still, Sarah's voice rings through his head. She's constantly telling him to be careful, and he can't let her down.

Cautiously, he tiptoes around the corner into the kitchen, to be met by the sight of his wife, sitting on the counter and holding a mug of coffee between her palms. Astonished at her sudden appearance, he freezes in the doorway.

"Sarah . . ." he breathes, dropping his lightsaber and taking her in – the slumped shoulders; the tired, empty eyes.

She raises her head at the sound of his voice, gazes at him over her coffee mug. "Hi," she murmurs.

"Wh-what are you doing here?" he asks quietly.

"Were you planning on incapacitating me with that?" she asks, nodding her head at the plastic weapon in his hand.

It's meant to be light-hearted, meant to cheer him up, but there's no mirth in her eyes. And there's none in his heart.

"Uh, yeah. I thought you might be a robber, or Morgan," he says, collapsing the blade and tossing the handle onto the counter. "I didn't think you'd be home this soon."

She slowly takes a sip of coffee and answers in a low, exhausted voice, "We got done early."

She doesn't offer anything else, won't even look at him. A rush of rage flares up inside Chuck's chest.

"How was Pittsburgh?" he asks as he helps himself to some coffee, needing to avoid her eyes to avoid the guilt in his heart. Standing at the counter, his back to her, he grabs a mug from the cabinet and pours himself some coffee.

"Fine," she tells him. "Pretty. But very hilly."

He takes a deep, shaky breath as her lies wash over him. The words come so smoothly that he has to wonder exactly how much she's been lying to him over the past four years. He's noticed the odd behavior, the occasional untruth, but he'd never before thought anything of it. Now it's all he can think about it, and the realization makes him feel like he's got a vice around his lungs, squeezing the life out of him.

He clears his throat and presses, "And the flight? Not too long, I hope."

"Fine," she repeats. "Our connecting flight from Chicago was delayed for a few hours, but I had that book you gave me. Helped me pass the time."

It's good he's still turned away from her, good that she won't see the pain etching its fragile, distinctive lines into his face. "_Snow Crash_?"

"Yeah, it's good. Thanks for lending it to me."

"No problem," he answers, his voice strained as he clutches the edge of the countertop in a bid to quell his anger.

She reaches out, her fingers lightly grasping his shoulder. She indicates his unknotted tie and gently asks, "Do you want me to tie that for you?"

He looks over at her, meets her gaze, and stifles a scoff. She's been home for ten minutes and already she wants to shuffle him off to work, already doesn't want him around? But he takes a deep breath and shakes that thought from his mind. Then again, she's always tied his tie. And he's always let her, because it looks better when she ties it, and because, in that instance, she's his and his alone. Usually, after she knots the silk material, she runs her hands over his chest and into his hair, inhales his scent like he's the only thing that can make her smile.

Sitting there on the counter right now, her gaze heavy with sadness, she doesn't look like she's smiled in a good long while.

Chuck sighs. He'd made her feel alive once, and maybe she's just trying to recapture that feeling. Or maybe she's just trying to be nice.

But even those possibilities anger him. He can't stand that she's driven him to this point, driven him to questioning her every move, her every _syllable_.

Fist clenched, he says evenly, "That's okay. I thought I'd stay home today. You shouldn't have to spend your first day back alone."

Alarm flashes briefly through her eyes, but it's gone in a second. "You really don't have to do that, Chuck," she replies softly. "I was just going to shower and take a nap. Not very exciting."

"No, I know. But I'm in need of a day off," he says heavily.

Sliding her hand over, Sarah gently massages his neck. "You do look pretty worn out."

He swallows when she meets his gaze. "You don't look so good yourself," he offers softly. "Come on. I'll go draw you a bath."

Sarah smiles, a sad smile that she quickly hides behind her coffee mug as she takes a sip, but it doesn't escape his notice. "Thanks," she murmurs.

She slips her hand into his as they walk down the hallway to the bathroom, but she leaves him at the doorway to grab her robe from the bedroom. He absently notices that she's walking stiffly, but, distracted, he forgets about that and draws the bathwater to fill the tub with hot water. After a moment's consideration, he throws in some evergreen-scented bubble bath.

Sarah returns to the bathroom in a flannel robe and carrying _Snow Crash_ under her arm. When the tub is filled, he shuts off the water, tests the temperature, and wipes the bubbles off his hand with a spare towel.

"All ready," he announces.

She places a hand on his arm and says again, "Thank you."

There's a look in her eye that tells him she's not saying everything she's feeling right now, but he bitterly supposes that that's nothing new and dismisses the emotion.

Swallowing thickly, he offers her a strained smile. "No problem."

He leaves her to her bath and spends the rest of the morning playing his Xbox. When his stomach starts to grumble around noon, he picks himself up off the couch and shuffles into the kitchen to forage for some food. As he stares into the refrigerator, he remembers that Sarah hasn't eaten anything for hours.

With a reluctant sigh, he heats up some chicken noodle soup and makes her a roast beef sandwich on sourdough, her favorite. Putting everything on a tray, he carries the lunch down the hall and into the bedroom.

Sarah's curled up on her side on top of the covers, a tranquil expression on her face. He sets the tray on the dresser, walks over to the bed, and sits down gently on the mattress.

She doesn't stir.

As Chuck brushes her bangs off her forehead, he's suddenly acutely aware of how pale her skin is, of how hot her cheek feels beneath his hand, of how shallow her breaths are.

"Sarah," he says softly. "Sarah, wake up."

But his wife, stuck in a deathlike slumber, is deaf to his pleas.

Carefully, he rolls her gently onto her back. When he reaches a hand up to cup her face, his touch leaves a vivid stain of red on her cheek. Chuck traces the source to Sarah's side, and he's horrified to see blood trickling from her abdomen and seeping into their bedspread.

"Sarah, please, wake up. Sarah!"

**Take me in or just take me out  
Put me on if you must or just put me down  
**'**Cause I'm done  
I'm all worn out  
We're either alive or a lie  
I'm done with the middle ground**

Leaning his forearm against the glass, Chuck sighs and gazes through the window into the hospital room at his sleeping wife. She looks so peaceful, and, from this distance, he can see no physical indication of her injuries.

So many contradictory thoughts are running through his head right now. He should've read the signs earlier, should've gotten her to the hospital as soon as she came home. But why is she so badly injured in the first place? What's she involved in that's so dangerous? If he asked her, would she tell him?

Even so, even though he still has no clue what's going on with her, he finds it hard to care about that as he looks in on her. How can he be mad at someone who's lying in a hospital bed with a gunshot wound? How can he be angry when he's just so damn grateful she's _alive_?

"Hey, bro," Devon greets, clapping him lightly on the shoulder. "How're you holding up?"

"I've been better."

"I'm sure." Devon nods his head toward Sarah. "But the important thing is that she's going to be just fine."

Ellie sidles up on his other side and says, "Yeah, Chuck. You should be proud of yourself. You did well bringing her here, just in time, too."

"Whoever stitched her up did a pretty good job," Devon explains. "But she lost a lot of blood when she tore them."

"She's fine now, though," Ellie smiles.

Chuck shakes his head, chastising himself. "I should've seen it sooner. She's my wife. How could I not see it?"

"You can't beat yourself up about it," his sister replies as she slides a comforting arm around his shoulders. She purses her lips. "So maybe Sarah was keeping something from you –"

"Something dangerous enough to get her shot," he cuts in.

"Yeah," Ellie nods hesitantly, seeing the bitter look in his eye. "But first of all, Chuck, whatever it is, it was her decision to keep it from you. You don't know why."

"But maybe if I knew," Chuck insists, "I could have helped her."

"And second of all," Ellie continues, "Sarah _loves_ you. She knows how much you worry. She was probably just trying to protect you."

"Looks like she's waking up," Awesome interjects. "She'd probably want to see you when she opens her eyes. And," he pauses to shoot his brother-in-law a supportive smile, "maybe if you ask, she'll explain things."

Devon gives him a light push, and Chuck stumbles across the smooth tile into the hospital room. Sarah, already stirring, looks up at the patter of his footsteps, and her face lights up with a smile as her gaze finds his.

"Chuck," she breathes, pulling herself into a sitting position. "You're here."

The doubt in her voice, the doubt that he _wouldn't_ be here when she woke up, eats away at the hardness in his heart. Breaking into a smile, he answers, "Of course I am."

But even if the sincerity in her eyes softens him, he still deserves some answers, and he'll keep his distance until he gets them.

Sarah notices, notices that he's standing at one end of the room and won't come near her, notices the far-off expression on his face. Frowning, she sighs and pinpoints, "You're mad at me."

Swallowing, Chuck nods hesitantly. "There's just, there's so much I need to know. There's so much you've been keeping from me." He rakes a hand through his hair and, trying to calm down, takes a deep breath. "Do you know what it's like, to have to sit by and just watch while someone you love fights for their life? Do you know what it's like to feel useless? Or to know that you _might_ have been able to help, if only they had trusted you enough?"

Sarah squeezes her eyes shut, like she's trying to escape from his accusations, but instead of running, like she so often does, she says calmly, "You have every right to be angry. But please, just let me explain. I deserve at least that."

He crosses his arms. "Fine. I'm listening."

She sets her jaw, obviously hoping he would be more receptive. "I work for the government –"

"I know that," he interjects peevishly.

"No, Chuck," she shakes her head, an unspeakably sad gleam in her eye. "You don't understand. I'm an _agent_ for the government."

His ears perk up, and, uncrossing his arms, he stands a little straighter. "You mean, like FBI?"

Sarah shakes her head. He stares at her, connecting the pieces, but she doesn't seem to want to come right out and say it.

So he says it for her.

"CIA?" he croaks out.

Sarah nods, almost fearfully.

"Damn," he mutters, walking to the side of the room and sinking into a chair.

Chuck shakes his head, trying to understand. Four years of lies because she's been putting herself in harm's way in order to serve her country. Four years of worrying about her because she's been off being a big damn heroine and he didn't even know. How can he be angry at her for that? How can he be angry at her for _saving lives_?

But how can he just accept the fact that she didn't trust him enough to tell him _anything_?

"I got shot on a mission," she tells him softly, and he picks his head up to look at her. "After I got stitched up, Casey and I thought I'd be all right. I came back because I wanted to see you, Chuck. I needed to."

He nods as he listens, finding himself moved by her uncommon display of vulnerability, finding his mask of indifference wearing down with each passing second.

There's no way he can stay mad when she's actually opening up to him.

"And, uh, how are you?"

He curses the words as soon as they're out of his mouth. His wife's lying in a hospital bed, a gunshot wound to her abdomen, and he's asking how she is. Could he be a bigger idiot? No wonder she kept secrets from him. He's a bumbling fool.

"I'm fine," she replies quietly.

He sets his jaw. The way she says it . . . like this has happened a hundred times before. But it cuts him that this is only the first time he's been allowed to know, only the first time that he's been allowed to be there for her. It makes him realize how often he's missed moments like this, missed opportunities to comfort her. He's her _husband_. Isn't his job to be there for her when she needs him?

"Are you really?" he asks, his voice a bit harsher than he means it to be.

Sarah levels a scrutinizing gaze at him. Her voice is soft when she finally speaks. "Do you want me to tell you how excruciating it was? Do you want me to tell you how there was so much blood I could barely breathe? Or do you want to hear about how I couldn't even think about the pain because all I could think about was never seeing you again?"

She breaks off, her voice choked with emotion, but all Chuck can do is stare at her.

"Yeah," he finally answers, swallowing down the image she's just conjured up. "Yeah, I do. I want to know you, Sarah. Just give me the chance."

Sighing, she combs a hand through her hair. "I've spent four years trying to protect you from my world, protect you from all the horrible things I've seen." She regards him sadly and strokes his cheek. "I was afraid that if you knew who I really am, you'd have no reason to stay."

Chuck takes her hand and presses it to his lips. "What about the fact that I'm crazy about you?" he asks, a smile tugging the corners of his mouth.

Sarah chuckles lightly and leans forward to kiss him. "C'mere," she requests. Smiling, he moves to climb onto the mattress, but she stops him, a hand against his chest. "Wait," she says. "Other side?"

Obligingly, Chuck walks around the bed frame and scrambles in from the opposite side. He's cautious, careful not to hurt her, but she slides against him and lays a hand on his chest. He covers her hand with his own, the touch soothing him until he senses something missing.

"You're not wearing your rings," he says softly.

Sarah presses a patient kiss to his jaw and pulls a chain out from beneath her hospital gown. When she lets it drop against her chest, he can see that the two rings rest over her heart. "I'm not allowed to wear them out in the field," she explains. "I must've forgotten to put them back on." Offering him a smile, she adds, "Sorry."

"No, I am," Chuck tells her, kissing her temple. He leans back against the pillows with a sigh.

Sarah brushes the curls off his forehead soothingly. "What is it?"

He's not sure how much he should push her tonight, how much he can ask from her when she's just been through something like this. But her open expression urges him on.

Taking a deep breath, he asks hesitantly, "How long's this been going on?"

Her hand drifts down his cheek, but he has a hard time meeting her eye. "Since before I met you," she admits. Settling her head against his shoulder, she continues, "Before college even . . . Casey and I have been partners for almost five years now, working on an interagency project called the Intersect."

"The Intersect?"

"Yeah, it's . . . a big computer. Really cool, really powerful. You'd like it," she smiles. "Casey and I were in LA to meet with some scientists and engineers about it. We were supposed to be there for a few weeks. We'd only been there a couple days when my phone broke."

Chuck's heart sinks. The realization that their entire relationship has been based on such a shaky chance sends his head spinning. "So it was just chance that your phone broke, that you walked into my Buy More?"

"No, Chuck," she replies, shaking her head and cupping his face with her palm. She brushes her thumb tenderly across his cheek. Smiling, she clarifies, "Fate. Ellie always talks about how I saved you, got you out of the Buy More and into the real world. But the truth is, Chuck, it's you who saved me. I'm who I am because of you, because you chose to see me and to love me. And for that, I'll always be grateful."

Even though he feels like his world is spinning off its axis, Chuck can't help but be gladdened by the declaration. He presses a kiss to her lips, reveling in the familiar sensation. But something alien begins to tug at his heart, something unpleasant begins to nag at his mind.

He pulls away, his brow furrowed. "How, Sarah?" he asks quietly. "How could you not tell me? How could you just keep all this from me?"

Has he been too blind to notice that she's spent their entire relationship lying to him?

She threads her fingers into his hair. His eyes close involuntarily at the touch, and he has to pull away in order to regain his senses.

"I wanted to, Chuck, believe me," she murmurs feelingly. Setting her mouth, she says, "But I was trying to keep you _safe_."

"What happened to 'for better or worse', or 'in sickness and in health'? Sarah, I'm your _husband_. I could have been there for you. I _want_ to be there for you. That's my job."

"Chuck . . . I . . ."

"Sarah," he breathes. He rests his hand on her side, feels the bandage beneath the folds of cloth. Moving it up a few inches, he asks, "What if it had been here instead?" He slides his hand up even farther and rests his palm over her heart, feeling the cool metal of her rings beneath his skin. "Or, God forbid, here?"

"Chuck –"

"No, Sarah," he cuts her off, "how could you leave me, every single time, knowing you might never come back?"

Sarah leans away from him, breathing deeply like she's holding back tears. Softened, Chuck tucks a wayward piece of hair behind her ear. "I wanted to have it all, Chuck," she confesses in a whisper. "This is all I've ever known, and I wasn't ready to give it up. But . . . I was afraid . . . afraid that if you knew me – _really_ knew me – you wouldn't like what you saw."

"Oh, Sarah . . ." He slides an arm around her shoulders, pulls her close, and kisses her hair. "How could I ever not adore you?"

Sinking into him, she rests a hand upon his chest. "I don't need you to adore me," she whispers. "I need you to love me."

The vulnerability in the statement hits him hard. He's been so wrapped up in how she's treated him that he hasn't stopped to think about _why_ she's been treating him like that way. He's been too selfish to stop and think about her needs.

"I do," he murmurs in reply, "more than you can know."

"I know you must feel betrayed, but I never meant to hurt you. You're the voice I hear in my head, the conscience I listen to when I don't know where to turn. Chuck," she says, "you're my touchstone."

As deeply as he's felt her lack of trust, he can't blind himself to the pain in her eyes. Kissing her temple, he lifts his left hand to show to her and says, "See this? This ring is my promise to you, that I'm always going to be there for you, whenever you need me." She nods, choking back tears, and he adds reassuringly, "We're gonna be okay, Sarah."

Sniffling, she gingerly takes the chain from around her neck and slides her engagement and wedding rings onto her finger. "And this is mine to you. I promise to trust you, Chuck, to love you like you deserve. . . . Chuck, I wasn't in Pittsburgh." When he opens his mouth to speak, she says, "You know that already, but I need to tell you. And there was no connecting flight to Chicago. I did read your book, though. Not all of it, but it helped me through. And the thing is, Chuck, I can't always tell you everything. But I won't lie to you. No more lies."

She leans forward to kiss him, but the moment is too soon interrupted by a knock on the door, and they look up to see Casey hovering uneasily in the doorway.

Chuck's only met Sarah's partner once, at their wedding, but he's no less intimidated by the man's hulking stature and cold glare than he was then.

"You can come in, Casey," Sarah tells him forlornly.

He complies by taking a step into the room. "Beckman wants to talk to you," he announces gruffly.

"She knows I'm here, right? Knows that I can't videoconference at the office."

"Not _you_," Casey elucidates. Nodding his head at Chuck, he says, "_Him_."

Sitting up, Sarah looks at him in alarm. "What? Why?"

"She wants him to look at the Intersect," he shrugs. "And since you've brought him into this world, she thinks that gives her leave to utilize his skills."

She shakes her head and protests vehemently, "No. Not a chance."

"You're always saying how he's a computer genius," argues the older man.

"I don't want him involved," she says forcefully.

"Then why'd you tell him?"

"He deserved to know the truth. That doesn't give you leave to rope him into this."

Sarah's eyes are flashing dangerously, but her partner's not backing down.

"Uh, guys?" Chuck interjects. "I'm . . . I'm still here . . ."

Casey looks like he's had an epiphany. "Let's let the geek decide."

The two spies look at him expectantly. He swallows. "Um, what exactly am I deciding here?"

"General Beckman," Casey growls, "the head of the entire National Security Agency, wants to speak to you. Sarah's been touting your expertise, and she thinks you might be able to work out some glitches with the Intersect."

"So, talking to her, that's just, a talk, right?"

Sarah laces her fingers through his. Glaring at Casey, she says, "It better be."

"Relax," the big guy says. "No strings attached. Hey, if he's as good as you say he is, he might even get compensated."

Sarah huffs. "Give us a minute?"

Casey nods and walks out of the room, but he stations himself just outside of the door.

"Hey, if you don't want me to do this, I won't," Chuck tells his wife. When she doesn't answer right away, he prods, "But I kind of get the sense that this Beckman isn't someone to refuse lightly?"

Sarah chuckles and shakes her head. "Not at all."

"Well, it's just a chat, right?"

"Yeah . . ."

"Look," he says, squeezing her hand, "I'll just talk to her, take a look at this supercomputer, and if she wants anything else from me, I'll tell her that I need to talk to you first. Okay?"

Brightening, Sarah nods. "Okay," she says. "But be careful."

He seals the promise with a kiss before climbing out the bed and walking across the room.

"I love you."

The soft yet insistent assertion makes him pause, and he turns, seeing something unreadable behind Sarah's eyes.

Chuck smiles. "Love you, too," he murmurs, before turning to meet Casey just outside the room. Throwing one last look back at his wife, he can't help but sense the line their lives have crossed.

**You close your eyes to see the sun  
And all the things you've never done  
They all come out in the dark  
And once again just break your heart**

He stands on the balcony and breathes in the cool, refreshing night air. The night is chilly, even with his suit jacket on, but the view of the city is so remarkable that he can't tear himself away. After spending three days in a government lab in an effort to fix the strangest, most awesome computer he's ever seen, the fresh air and quiet atmosphere are too tempting. He can think out here. There are no distractions out here.

"Are you cold?"

Chuck turns to find Sarah leaning against the doorframe, an expectant look on her face. He offers her a smile. He's been neglecting her, wrongly. She's opened up her apartment – her entire life – to him, and he's spent the whole evening sulking on the balcony.

"I'm sorry," he says, walking towards her and enfolding her in his arms.

"It's all right," she smiles as she strokes his hair. "But why don't you come inside? We can order some dinner, maybe watch some TV."

Touched by the thought of returning to routine, returning to _normal_, he nods and follows her back into the apartment. It's a small apartment – just a bedroom and living area with a tiny, annexed kitchen – because she doesn't need it for much, so they sit down on the bed. Exhausted, he slings off his suit jacket and tosses it on the floor.

They have so much to talk about, so much to discuss and decide.

She sighs and puts a hand on his cheek, turning his face toward her. Her look unravels him, lifts the weight from his shoulders and sets his heart at ease.

She traces her fingers over his face – over his eyebrows, his cheeks, his lips – and her touch is so tantalizing that he can't breathe. With a deep breath, she drops her hand to his neck and leans forward to capture his mouth with her own.

A spark of life erupts within his chest at her touch. All the cares that have been plaguing him melt away in a matter of seconds, and all that matters right now is the way she makes him feel, the way she can strip away all the pain and hurt from his heart. He wraps his arms around her, pulling her onto his lap, and she falls into him.

She tastes like cider, like autumn, and the sensation makes him lightheaded with desire. She lifts herself onto her knees and pushes him gently back onto the bed. The mattress sinks beneath them, but Sarah's weight is comfortable – _comforting_ – against his chest. Deepening the kiss, she curls her fingers against his palm.

Panting, she sits up and strips off her t-shirt. Though he's seen her undressed countless times before, Chuck can't help but stare. His attention is drawn to a nickel-sized scar near her hip, the scar tissue still white and fresh. He gently runs a thumb over it and is accosted by a sudden image of the bullet ripping through her side, turning porcelain to crimson as it tears her flesh.

"Sarah . . ." he breathes heavily.

He lifts his gaze, looks into bright blue eyes ablaze with longing.

"I don't want to talk right now, Chuck," she whispers. "I just want you."

Rising up to meet her lips, he gives in, gives in to the chaos and the passion, gives in to _her_, because she's the only thing that makes any sense right now.

Later, moonlight twinkles in through the windows as she lies tranquilly against his chest, lightly tracing circles against his skin. He can feel her breath, warming him in the cool night.

"Sarah," he murmurs as he trails his fingers through her loose hair.

"Mmmm," she replies sleepily, pressing her lips to his chest.

One hand under his head, he gazes at the ceiling, strangely distracting in its plainness. But they can no longer put off the inevitable. He sighs. "We need to talk about this, Sarah."

"Less talk," she mumbles. "More _sleep_."

He sighs again and takes up her hand, languidly lacing their fingers together in a lazy dance of digits. "Don't you get it?" he whispers sadly. "I need you right now, Sarah. You're the only one I can talk to."

She lifts her head from his chest, and he can finally see a glimmer of understanding in her eyes. "Chuck . . . I can't make this decision for you."

"I'm not asking you to," he replies quietly. "I'm asking you to help me so I don't go into this blindly."

Heaving a sigh, she props herself up on an elbow and regards him seriously. "Don't you think I'm a little biased?" she asks, her fingers dancing lightly, tantalizingly over his chest. When he doesn't respond right away, she continues grimly, "I've spent four years trying to keep you from this life. It's dangerous, it's . . . the things I've seen, the things I've _done_, Chuck . . ." She breaks off, tendrils of her hair tickling his skin as she shakes her head.

"Hey, hey, hey," he breathes, lifting himself up to press a kiss to her lips. "It's all right."

"No," she counters, though her voice holds no fire. "No, it's not all right, Chuck. Just because I thought you deserved to know the truth doesn't mean I want you working in this world. It's ugly, and you're too good for it."

Chuck sets his jaw, sets his gaze at her, but she's not giving any ground. Softly, he asks, "But what if I want to be with you?"

Sighing, Sarah strokes his hair. "That's how we got into this mess in the first place," she tells him, a melancholy smile gracing her tranquil features. "I wanted to protect you from my world, but, selfishly, I also wanted _you_."

He tucks a piece of hair behind her ear. "So protect me, Sarah," he urges in a fervent whisper. "Protect me when I'm in your world, and I'll protect you in mine."

Contemplatively, she runs a finger down his chest. "So you're determined to accept Beckman's offer?"

Pursing his lips, he lets out a breath. "I'm determined to spend as much time with you as I can, and if that means taking a job with the government, then that's what I'll do." He pauses to judge her reaction. "But only if you're okay with that."

Sarah leans down to kiss him reassuringly. "I want you to be happy, Chuck."

"Being with you makes me happy," he murmurs, threading their fingers together.

"I know," she smiles. "But I hope you know that I would have given it up for you. I was ready, finally. You _do_ know that, right?"

"I'd never want to make you choose," he whispers, letting his eyes drift shut. "This way you won't have to."

Smiling, she leans down to place kisses on his forehead, his closed lids, his cheeks, and down to his lips. "If this is what you want, Chuck," she murmurs, "we'll do it together. You and me."

"Yeah," Chuck replies softly, brushing his lips against hers, "just you and me."

"We have to set some ground rules, though," she says.

"Like what?"

"Like I'll talk to Beckman. Maybe I can get the project based in LA."

"You'd do that?"

"Of course, Chuck." She smiles at him, warming his heart, and whispers, "Nothing matters to me more than you."

**I know you're awake**  
'**Cause you shake when you cry  
I'll hold you, I'll hold you  
But you've got to decide**

Chuck's heart swells as he looks out the window, watching the city lights grow larger and brighter as the plane descends.

_Home_.

On his left, Sarah sleeps peacefully, blanketed under his jacket, her head resting against his shoulder.

"Hey," he murmurs, shaking her gently. "The plane's landing. We're almost home."

Sarah groans softly and nestles closer against him. "Just five more minutes," she grumbles.

He chuckles, leans back in his seat, and looks back out the window. Sure enough, fifteen minutes later, Sarah stirs to consciousness as the plane touches down on the runway. Smiling, she shrugs off the jacket and offers it back to him.

"No," he says, waving it away. "Keep it."

She nods and slings her arms through the sleeves, wrapping the coat tightly around herself. She slides her hand into his, the warmth instantly spreading through his body, and they stay connected like that as they disembark, until they emerge into the brightly-lit terminal and Sarah snakes an arm around his waist. Squinting in the brightness, Chuck looks around for any sign of his family.

"Sarah! Chuck!"

Chuck grins as his sister and brother-in-law approach, matching grins on their faces. As a very pregnant Ellie pulls him into a warm embrace, four-year-old Rachel tugs at his pant leg.

"Uncle Chuck!" she shouts happily, holding her arms open wide.

"Hey, beautiful," he says as he looks down and scoops up his niece. She latches her arms about his neck and places a kiss on his forehead.

Beside him, Sarah and Devon exchange a hug before he hands off thirteen-month-old Ryan.

"There you go, little guy," Devon booms. "I bet you're happy to be back with your mom again, aren't you?"

Ryan giggles as Sarah blows a raspberry on his cheek. "How's my little man?" she coos, tickling his stomach. "Were you good for your aunt and uncle?"

"He wasn't any trouble, was he?" Chuck asks.

Ellie waves dismissively. "Please. He's an angel."

"Good. That's great to hear," he replies with a smile and turns back to Rachel, who's clamoring for his attention. "Did you have a good time with your cousin?" he asks.

"Uh-huh," she returns with an enthusiastic nod. "We built a fort and played _Star Wars _and Mama made us cookies and Daddy played spies with us and –"

"Whoa. Sounds like you had a very busy week."

"Yep! Didya bring me a present, Uncle Chuck?"

"Rachel," Ellie admonishes. "He can't bring you something from every trip."

Chuck laughs. "Sorry, pumpkin. _I _didn't bring you anything this time."

"That's because _I_ did," Sarah interjects, taking a step over to place a kiss on her niece's temple. "But it's in my bag, so you'll have to wait a bit." She exchanges a hug with Ellie, who can't stop grinning.

"Thank you, Aunt Sarah!" Rachel exclaims, and Sarah hands Ryan to Chuck so Rachel can hop into her arms. "Is it pretty? Is it big? Is it _shiny_?"

Laughing, Sarah ruffles her hair, and the entire gang sets off for the baggage claim. She leans forward so their foreheads touch and tells her quietly, "It's a surprise. You'll just have to wait to find out."

Devon sidles up alongside her and lifts his daughter into his arms. "Come here, kiddo," he grins. "Your aunt and uncle just got back. Let's give them a break, huh?"

Rachel leans against his broad chest, a pout on her delicate features.

Ellie rolls her eyes. "I know you just got home," she says, "but Devon and I thought you might want to come to dinner at our place."

Chuck glances over at his wife, who slides her hand back into his. When she smiles, a warm gleam in her eye, he says, "We'd love that."

"Yeah," Sarah agrees with a smile. "I can't think of anything better than spending time with you guys."

"And we always love to have you," Devon says. "So how was the anniversary trip?"

"I can't believe it's been five years already!" Ellie exclaims.

"Neither can I. The trip was amazing," Sarah replies. "Alaska is absolutely gorgeous."

"Yeah, it was pretty fantastic," Chuck agrees. "But it's good to be home."

Sarah beams up at him, and, as they wind their way through the airport, he's pretty sure he's figured out what life's really about. It's about holding your wife's hand, and bouncing your son in your arms. It's about sharing an evening with your family.

It's all about love.

**Take me in or just take me out  
Put me on if you must or just put me down**  
'**Cause I'm done  
I'm all worn out  
We're either alive or a lie  
I'm done with the middle ground**


	36. Gypsy

Song: "Gypsy," by Shakira. (Because really, who doesn't love a good Shakira song? :P)

A/N: Well, I've been working on this a while. I'm just sorry it took me so long to finish. Consider this my one week (six days?) until the season three premiere present? :D

You know, I was super excited because I thought this chapter was going to be normal-sized, and then . . . well, it wasn't, lol. Hope you enjoy it!

I hope to get back to this story a bit more, but I do want to finish up the final chapters of my "Merlin" fic and _S&S_ before I do.

Kindly beta-ed by **BillAtWork**. Special props to him for his suggestions, because he's always got a great handle on Chuck as a character, while I'm always like, "But Sarah's so COOL!" Lol, he's requested 'Executive Producer' billing, and I've granted it. :P

* * *

"Morning, beautiful."

Sarah laughs softly as she wraps an arm around Chuck's waist. Her nose buried in his shoulder, she inhales deeply. He smells so good, so comfortable, and she loves just breathing him in.

"Good morning," she replies.

He turns his head to greet her with a smile and a kiss. "Want some breakfast? Ellie made omelets."

Sliding into the seat at the counter beside him, Sarah nods. "Sure. Is she gone already?"

"Yeah," Chuck nods as he gets her a plate and pours some orange juice. "She and Devon had early shifts."

"Thank you," she replies when he slides the plate in front of her, leaning over for another kiss.

He leans back in his chair and takes a gulp of juice. As she takes a bite of the omelet, she throws a glance at him and notices the worried gleam in his eye, the slight downturn of his mouth.

Bumping his shoulder, she asks, "What's up?"

"What do you mean?"

"You look nervous. Do you have a big presentation today?"

She's fairly certain work isn't what's bothering him though, because she would have remembered if he had told her about any important meetings coming up.

Clearing his throat, Chuck slides an arm around her shoulders. "I was thinking . . ."

"Uh-oh," she teases in an effort to lighten his mood.

He sticks his tongue out playfully at her, laughs, and continues, "As I was saying, there's a game release party on Friday night, and I'd really love it if you came with me this time."

Sarah looks down at her plate and takes another bite. "I don't know, Chuck. You know I don't like parties."

"Come on," he pleads quietly. "Ellie and Devon are coming. And Bryce and Morgan and Anna are all going to be there." He leans in to rest his forehead against her temple. "We can sneak in the back, avoid the red carpet stuff, pretend it's just one of Ellie's get-togethers, except on a massive scale."

She lets out a laugh, amazed that he can always make her smile no matter what her mood. And, looking into those gorgeous eyes, how can she deny him anything?

"I'll think about it," she smiles, and that seems to be enough for him.

He breathes a sigh of relief, but his brow furrows again and he says, "Speaking of Ellie's get-togethers . . ."

She lifts an eyebrow at him, amused at the nervous tremor in his voice. What else could he ask that could be worse than spending an entire evening in a room full of people with false smiles and fake emotions?

"She was thinking about having a little dinner next week," he explains. "You know – Morgan, Anna, Bryce, the usual."

Smiling, she slides her hand to his neck. "Chuck, just ask."

He takes a deep breath. "I thought we could invite your father."

Sarah turns away from him and gulps down her orange juice. Her heart rate increases as she swallows down the guilt eating at her. "I don't think that's such a good idea," she says quietly.

"Sarah, come on," he pleads, but this is a tired conversation, one they've had every week for months now. "We've been dating for seven months. Don't you think I should meet him?"

Sighing, Sarah pokes at her eggs. There's so much he doesn't know, but how can she explain it all to him? He's so trusting, so open; and she doesn't deserve what he's given her.

"He's just, he's kind of a handful," she explains uneasily. "I'm just not sure I want to deal with that yet, that's all."

Frowning, Chuck gets up and walks over to the counter to pour himself some coffee. "Of course," he says. "There's lots of time for us to get to know each other." But there's an underlying current of displeasure in his voice.

She watches him for a moment, notices the tension in his shoulders. Sighing quietly, she walks over to him and places her hands on his chest. "Look at you. You're not even dressed for work," she murmurs before giving him a soft kiss and letting her fingertips graze over his jaw. She smiles. "Come on. Let's go pick you out something to wear today."

**Broke my heart  
Down the road  
Spend the weekend  
Sewing the pieces back on**

"I need to talk to you," Sarah announces as she walks through the front door, through the kitchen, and into the living room in search of her father.

She finds him lounging in his favorite armchair reading the morning newspaper. He looks up as she walks in. "Hello, darlin'," he smiles. "I wasn't expecting you."

She collapses onto the couch and repeats, "We need to talk."

Folding the paper meticulously, Jack sighs and scrutinizes his daughter. "What's a-matter? The boyfriend not as malleable as we expected?"

Sarah frowns, sinks further into the cushions, and covers her eyes with her hands. She feels like she's wading through quicksand, and every move just makes her sink deeper. "I can't go through with this," she tells him softly.

"What do you mean?" he asks, sitting up. "Sarah, if you bail now, the job is lost. We lose the prize."

Dropping her hands to look at him, she purses her lips. "When's it going to stop, Dad? When are we ever just going to stop and be a real family?"

He frowns. "I know you can do this, Sarah. You just gotta hold on a bit longer, that's all."

Sarah jumps up off the couch and begins to pace, her fists clenched at her sides. "I need advice from my _father_ right now, not my partner."

Jack stares at his daughter, the cogs turning inside his head. She's not a talker, never has been, and he's learned to hear what she leaves unsaid.

"So you're just going to run away?" he asks quietly, shaking his head in displeasure. "What have I taught you?"

Turning to face him, she answers, "'Don't trust anyone but yourself.'"

Jack chuckles softly. "What else?"

Sarah swallows, searching back in her memories for the advice he's referring to. Finally, she says, "'Love is rare. If you're lucky enough to find it, hang on to it. Hang on like hell.'"

Smiling disbelievingly, he asks, "You don't forget a word I say, do you, darlin'?" When Sarah shakes her head, he continues, "Then don't have selective hearing. It doesn't suit you."

She sinks back onto the couch, arms hugging her torso. "I don't know what to do, Dad," she confesses quietly.

"I do."

"You do?"

Jack clears his throat and grins at her. "Invite him to dinner." She shoots him an incredulous look, and he explains, "I think it's about time I met the man my daughter's in love with."

**Crayons and dolls pass me by  
Walking gets too boring  
When you learn how to fly**

Sarah lets out a breath in an attempt to calm herself. Her hand is shaking so badly that she can't even apply her mascara. Frustrated, she tosses the makeup tube back onto the counter and leans forward to stare into the mirror.

She frowns, disliking the reflection staring back at her.

He's _perfect_, and he deserves so much more than she can ever give. How can she even endeavor to deserve the love of a man of such goodness?

"Everything okay?"

She turns on her heel to find the man in question standing in the doorway of the bathroom, his hands in his pockets, a crooked smile on his face. Standing before him, arms at her sides, she wants more than anything to lay herself open, to confess her sins and clean her slate.

But instead, all that comes out is, "Of course. Fine."

Chuck purses his lips, clearly not convinced. He steps forward and rests his hands on her hips. "Are you sure? You look nervous."

Sliding her hands to his chest, she tries for a playful smile. "Well, it's not every day my boyfriend and my father meet."

"No," he chuckles, "but for what it's worth, I'm really glad I'm going to meet him."

"I know you are."

When she averts her eyes, he furrows his brow and presses, "Are you sure that's all it is, sweetie?"

The endearment sends a pang through her heart. Perhaps her father has no qualms about never telling Chuck the truth, but is that not just another con? If she's going to have his love, she wants to earn his complete trust as well, and that means not keeping things from him.

But where to start?

"Chuck . . ." she begins softly, "there are things you have to know. I'm not who . . . all my life . . ." She trails off and shakes her head, searching for the right words.

Chuck snakes his arms around her waist, holds her close to him, and says, "Hey, come here. It's okay, Sarah."

Sarah pulls back to look at him. "You don't even know what I'm going to say."

"No, I don't," he replies. "But you're trembling, and I'm not going to make you tell me something if it's got you this upset." Running his thumb over her chin, he smiles gently and says, "Whatever it is, Sarah, it's okay."

"No, it's not, Chuck. You need to know. My father, he . . ." Once again, she can't seem to say what she wants to say.

"What?" he asks quietly. "Is he going to tell me mortifying stories about your high school years?"

It's meant to be a lighthearted joke, but Sarah can't bring herself to respond with even a soft chuckle.

"Hey, hey, hey," he says, leaning against the counter and pulling her towards him. "I pushed you into this, didn't I?" he asks, swallowing nervously.

"No," she assures him, shaking her head, "of course not. My dad really wants to meet you, too."

He takes a deep breath. "Maybe we can take a rain check, though. That way you can calm down, and we can invite your father to Ellie's dinner next week. That way it's not just the three of us. Maybe that'll be better, huh?"

"I appreciate the thought, Chuck, but I really think we should do this."

"Why?" he asks as he reaches up to caress her cheek. "You were shaking, Sarah."

"Just nerves," she dismisses before threading her fingers through his curls and pulling him in for a kiss. "Because I care about you, and you deserve to know how much."

"Okay," he smiles, "but you let me know the minute you want to get out of there."

"What," she asks with a laugh, "you mean like, we're going to have a safe word?"

"If you want to," he chuckles.

"Hmm . . . a safe word to help my boyfriend escape from my father . . ."

"Hey, it's not for me!"

"Fine," she laughs, leaning her forehead against his. "Any suggestions for the word?"

Chuck lifts his eyebrows in thought before dissolving into laughter. "Pineapple?"

**Not the homecoming kind  
Take the top off  
And who knows what you might find**

Taking a deep breath, Sarah leans her hands on the bathroom countertop and looks into the mirror.

Everything about this scenario feels suspicious somehow. The restaurant is too fancy, the food too good. And her father is too charming.

She's never had a proper boyfriend before, and this relationship is so messed that she's not even sure she can call Chuck her boyfriend yet, but her father's always been overprotective. He's not the kind of man to welcome his daughter's significant other with a friendly smile and a hospitable handshake. No, he's the kind of man who grills the boyfriend while cleaning his gun as a show of intimidation.

Suddenly, Sarah realizes what's actually going on. She rolls her eyes and curses her father. Like a lion stalking his prey, he's luring Chuck into a false sense of security. And, like a fool, she's let him. Her trip to the restroom has only allowed him to spring the trap.

At this realization, Sarah takes off, walking through the restaurant and back to their table as fast as propriety will allow. Plastering a smile onto her face, she slides into the seat next to Chuck and grabs his hand, moist with nerves, with a possessiveness she hadn't realized she had.

Jack, sitting across the table, doesn't pause in the conversation as she returns. With a piercing look, he says, "You're twenty-eight. You still live with your sister. So far it doesn't look too good, Charlie. What exactly can you offer my daughter?"

Chuck swallows nervously, his leg shaking uncontrollably, and Sarah gives his hand a squeeze.

Turning to her father, she frowns and warns, "Dad. Stop it."

"It's a legitimate question, baby girl," he argues.

Chuck inclines his head toward her and murmurs, "It's okay, Sarah." She looks up at him incredulously and he reassures her, "Really." Turning to Jack, he says, "I'm not sure if you're familiar with Aces Games, but that's my company. I own it. We've only been off the ground for a few years now, but so far we've been successful, successful enough that I can easily support Sarah. The reason I live with my sister is that both of our parents are gone, and she's been the only constant in my life since I was thirteen. I don't have to live with her. I certainly make enough to buy my own house, but I don't want just a house. I want a home." Finally taking a breath, Chuck looks over at his girlfriend and smiles. "And I'm hoping that I can build one with Sarah."

An unfamiliar combination of pride and love builds up in Sarah, and she leans forward to brush her lips over his. She never should have doubted him. He's amazing, even when faced with the terrifying prospect of explaining their relationship to her father. Feeling unbelievably lucky, she pulls him closer, and Chuck smiles into her kiss.

Jack clears his throat and raises an eyebrow. "Okay," he says challengingly, "so you can support her financially. But this business, it seems like it's going to make you quite the wonder in the video game world. So how do I know that you'll be faithful to her, that you won't get tired of her once your company takes off and you're being showered with attention from other women?"

Sarah gazes at him pointedly. "Dad, Chuck's being modest. His company _is_ taking off. They've released four games in the past year alone, and they've been named Time Magazine's number one company to watch." The corners of her mouth turning upward, she flicks a glance at Chuck. "If he's not tired of me by now . . ."

Chuck laughs softly. "With all due respect, sir," he begins, "I love your daughter very much. I know we've only been together for seven months, but she's my life, and I would never do anything to jeopardize that." He swallows and straightens his shoulders, waiting for Jack's judgment.

Surprisingly, Jack smiles. "All right then, kid. That's what I needed to hear."

**Won't confess all my sins  
You can bet I'll try it  
But I can't always win**

The night air is cool, and Sarah leans into Chuck. He slides an arm around her shoulders as they meander down the sidewalk.

"Well," he says, "I don't think that went too badly."

"No," she agrees, smiling softly, "it didn't. I must say, Mr. Bartowski, there are very few people who can win over my father." She tilts her chin to look up at him. "And I'm very glad you are one of those people."

Beaming, Chuck leans down to press a kiss to her forehead. "Me, too. Although I have to admit that I'm kind of surprised I was able to get through to him."

"Why's that?"

Chuck rolls his eyes. "Didn't you notice how terrified I was?"

"I did notice that your hand was a little moist," she chuckles. "But thank you."

"Thanks for introducing us. I know you didn't want us to meet, and now I'm pretty sure I know why," he laughs.

"My father and I aren't very close," she explains. "And, well, let's just say he won't be expecting another invitation anytime soon."

"He's okay with that?"

Sarah nods. "It's been just the two of us for so long, and neither of us are very effusive." She inhales sharply, suddenly needing to change the subject. "Hey," she says, "why don't we get away?"

"You want to go somewhere this weekend?"

"Not this weekend. Now. Let's just take off in my Porsche and drive somewhere."

Chuck stops walking and peers at her curiously. "Sarah, it's Tuesday night. I've still got three days of work this week plus that game release on Friday."

Sliding her arms around his waist, she regards him earnestly. "Friday is three days away. We can be back in time for the party."

"I don't know, Sarah . . ."

"What's the problem, Chuck?"

"I can't just pick up and take off. I'm the boss and –"

"Exactly! You're the boss. You can do whatever you want."

He shakes his head. "So why right now? I'd love to take a trip with you, Sarah, but why can't it wait until the weekend?"

Sarah sighs, turns away, and continues walking, pulling him by the hand. "I don't know. Sometimes I just need to get away for a few days."

He tugs her hand, stopping her and spinning her around to face him. "You need to get away from your father, from life?" He pauses before asking, "Or you need to get away from me?"

"Chuck," she murmurs, reaching up a hand to his face. "If I'm taking you with me, why would I need to get away from _you_? I just . . . feel confined sometimes, you know?"

Frowning, he pulls her closer. "Confined by us?"

"You're hung up on this, aren't you?" she asks with a shake of her head. "But it has nothing to do with you, Chuck. Nothing."

"Then what is it?"

_It's me_, she wants to say. _You're perfect, and I'm . . . flawed_.

Instead, Sarah leans up to kiss him. Feeling the familiar flutter of her heart as their lips touch, she smiles. "Listen to me," she tells him softly but forcefully, "I've never met anyone like you, Charles Irving Bartowski, and no one's ever made me feel this way. So don't you dare think any of this is about you."

Sliding a hand to her face, he grins. "And how exactly do I make you feel, Miss Walker?"

"Shut up," she laughs as she pushes him away playfully. "You already know."

He chuckles as they resume walking. Squeezing her hand, he concedes, "Yeah, I suppose I do."

'**Cause I'm a gypsy  
But are you coming with me?  
I might steal your clothes  
And wear them if they fit me  
I never made agreements  
Just like a gypsy  
And I won't back down**  
'**Cause life's already hurt me  
And I won't cry  
I'm too young to die  
If you're gonna quit me**  
'**Cause I'm a gypsy**

The crystal chandeliers throw a glinting light over the ballroom, dazzling Sarah as she walks through the entrance, her arm linked through Chuck's.

"Hey," Chuck says softly as he leads her over toward the bar. "You all right?"

She nods absently, her gaze sweeping over the room. The guests are elegant, colorful, smiling. Despite the fact that she's been infiltrating parties like this since she was fifteen, she feels remarkably out of place.

He inclines his head and says, "Thanks for coming with me. I know these parties aren't really your thing."

"They're not really yours either, are they?" she asks with a tiny smile.

"Not really," he laughs and looks across the room. She follows his gaze to see Bryce mingling with a group of women, a toothy grin on his face and a flute of champagne already in his hand. Chuck explains, "Bryce is the face of the company. These types of gatherings are his forte, not mine."

"Well, I'm glad," Sarah smiles, wrapping her arms around his neck. "That way I have you all to myself."

Chuck grins and leans down for a kiss.

"Hey, buddy!"

Sarah pulls away to see Morgan standing in front of them. He's holding a drink in one hand and small plate of cookies in the other, and his tux looks a little too big for him.

"Hey, Sarah," Morgan grins. His eyes sweep over her dark green dress, and an expression of approval springs to his face. "If I may say, you're looking gorgeous tonight."

"Thanks, Morgan," Sarah smiles. She lifts a hand to Chuck's chest and says, "You look pretty handsome, too."

"Where's Anna?" Chuck asks.

"Oh, she's around here somewhere."

He laughs. "You lost her already?"

Frowning, Morgan protests, "It wasn't my fault! There are just so many people here."

Chuck claps him on the shoulder. "Don't worry, buddy. You'll find her."

"And we'll keep an eye out for her," Sarah adds.

"Great. Thanks, guys. I'll let you get back to your thing, but if you see her, tell her I'm over by the ice sculptures."

"No problem, Morg," Chuck assures him, and they watch the bearded man disappear into the crowd.

He stiffens as a dark-haired woman in a purple dress strolls toward them, a determined look in her eye, and Sarah gasps lightly as he grabs her hand and pulls her toward the balcony.

"Let's get some air, shall we?" he suggests quickly.

And they're through the French doors and out on the balcony before she can object. It takes a moment for her eyes to adjust to the darkness, but the stars twinkle out at her one by one to light up the sky.

"We just got here," she laughs.

"But you _were_ thinking about it, weren't you?"

She turns her head to look at him and brings a hand up to his cheek. "Yes," she admits. She gestures toward the gardens a level below. "Besides, it's gorgeous out here."

When the cool breeze makes her shiver lightly, Chuck quickly slides off his tux jacket and wraps it around her shoulders.

"Are you warm enough? Do you want me to go grab you a drink?" he asks quietly.

Shaking her head, Sarah leans against him. "Don't go anywhere. I just want to stay right here with you."

"You'd be okay with staying out here the rest of the night, wouldn't you?" he teases, wrapping his arms around her and pressing a kiss to her temple.

She stares out at the garden and replies, "No. I came here for you. And I will do anything you ask, whether it's schmoozing with the president of a rival company or just being your arm candy."

His laugh sends her hair fluttering. "Well, right now, I'd appreciate it if you helped me hide from Alicia Collins."

"Who?"

He sidles them to the side of the balcony into the shadows and points through the glass doors into the ballroom. "That woman in purple right there. She's from _LA_ _Gaming Magazine_. I swear she corners me every time I come to one of these."

"Maybe she likes you," Sarah ribs gently as she spins around to face him.

"Maybe," he laughs, "but the only girl I want is right here."

Chuck leans in for a kiss, but, a hand on his chest, she holds him back. He raises an eyebrow in curiosity.

"What's the matter? What's up?" he asks.

Sighing, she reaches up to thread her fingers through his hair. "I . . . I have something to tell you."

Chuck leans back against the banister, pulling her closer. "All right. I'm listening."

Sarah opens her mouth, but at that moment a flashbulb goes off. Her vision swirling with dots of light, she turns to the culprit. Chuck spins and takes a step in front of her.

"Alicia," he greets with feigned friendliness, and, once her vision adjusts, Sarah can see the purple dress and the raven hair and the dazzlingly fake smile. There's a photographer standing behind her, at least having the decency to look uncomfortable.

"Mr. Bartowski," the stylish brunette drawls, "you are an elusive man."

He chuckles lightly. "Not purposefully."

"I'm sure." Alicia steps toward them, her eyes fixed on Sarah. "And who is this lovely woman? We haven't chatted in so long, I feel so out-of-touch."

"My private life is private," he tells her quietly. "Your readers don't need to know who I'm dating or how I spend my free time. They just need to know that the games we produce are quality."

"I believe you misunderstand the public's interest in you, Charles. You're a human interest story, an underdog who's come out on top. You're a celebrity now, and people can't get enough of celebrities." She gives him a smarmy smile and continues, "No matter how much you fight it, you _are_ famous now. Get used it."

Her gaze flicks over Sarah one more time before she and the photographer return to the ballroom, and Chuck's shoulders slump in relief when they disappear into the crowd.

Sarah puts a hand on his shoulder. "She's charming."

Chuck lets out a surprised laugh as he turns around to slide an arm around her waist. "What do you say we go find some more enjoyable company?"

**I can't hide  
What I've done  
Scars remind me  
Of just how far I have come**

"Here you go," Devon booms as he hands Sarah a glass of champagne.

She accepts it with a smile. "Thanks, Devon."

Standing on the outskirts of the dance floor, they watch the couples twirl by. Sarah's gaze alights on Chuck, dancing with his sister and trying very hard not to step on her feet. Ellie laughs good-naturedly, not seeming to mind if they get the steps wrong.

"They look like they're having fun," Awesome observes with his usual wide grin.

"They do," Sarah nods.

"I bet we can show them up, though." He extends his arm to her. "Feel like taking a spin?"

Chuckling, Sarah links her arm through his and agrees, "Certainly!"

They down their champagne and set the glasses down on a nearby table before he guides her out onto the floor. Devon, with his honed body and perfect posture, is, unsurprisingly, a fantastic dancer. Sarah, so used to nudging men in the direction she wants them to go, melts into his embrace and allows him to lead.

"You're a great dancer," she compliments after he twirls her around.

"Thanks," he beams. "You're pretty graceful yourself. Where'd you learn how to dance?"

"My father taught me. When I was little, he and my mom would push back all the furniture in the living room and dance. All kinds of things – tango, cha cha, polka."

"That's very cool. You should help me give the Chuckster a few lessons. I think it'll help if he's got a beautiful woman for a partner."

"He didn't do so badly when we danced earlier," she protests with a laugh.

Devon lifts an eyebrow knowingly. "But you were leading, weren't you?"

"Okay, fine. I was."

Laughing, Devon says, "You know, we should all go out dancing sometime. You Chuck, me, and Ellie. How do you feel about salsa?"

"Yeah," Sarah agrees, "that'd be fun."

Devon sends a glance over her shoulder to where Ellie and Chuck are dancing and laughing. "You know, he's really come a long way since he met you." When she turns a questioning gaze on him, he elucidates, "He's never been very social. He'd rather play video games or watch movies than go out and meet new people, but I don't know . . . the day he met you, he . . . changed."

"He still prefers video games to clubs," she says with a quiet smile.

"No, I know. But he's just different, more open to new things, and he's happier than I've ever seen him. Of course," he adds, thinking to himself, "I haven't known him as long as Ellie has, but . . . my point is that you're good for him. And we're happy to have you around."

Sarah fights the sinking feeling of guilt in her stomach to smile convincingly. "Thank you, Devon. You have no idea how happy I am to be a part of your family."

**To whom it may concern  
Only run with scissors  
When you want to get hurt**

Still in her dress from the party, Sarah sinks onto the couch in her father's living room. He's seated in his favorite brown leather armchair, a flannel robe tied over his pajamas.

He hands her his half-filled scotch on the rocks and says, "All right, baby girl. What's the matter now?"

She takes a long swig and swallows. "I can't do it. I can't tell him."

"I assume we're talking about the schnook here?" Sarah looks up sharply, and he laughs. "Well," he shrugs, "he is kind of a schnook."

"We're talking about _Chuck_," she corrects.

"Fine. Chuck," he says with a dismissive wave. "Now, what is it you can't tell him?"

"You don't understand, Dad. He's more than I deserve, and –"

Jack shakes his head and cuts her off. "I don't know how many times we have to go through this, darlin', but I'm getting a little tired of having to explain how amazing you are. And if he doesn't get that, then _he_ doesn't deserve _you_."

The assertion draws a tentative smile from her lips, but misgiving quickly overtakes her heart again. "But how am I supposed to tell him that I was _conning_ him?"

Jack crosses his arms and leans back in his chair. "Well, baby, how long have you been conning him?"

She scoffs and takes another sip of scotch. "You know how long, Dad. Since the day I met him."

"No, I know when the con started. I was there. But when did it stop being a con and become something more?"

Sarah stares contemplatively into the depths of her glass. "He took me to the pier one night, and we just sat talking and watching the ocean. I felt like he was opening up to me for the first time, and I wasn't afraid to open up either."

Jack narrows his eyes. "Wasn't that six months ago?" Refraining from answering, Sarah simply sinks further into the couch with a groan. He chuckles and says, "You've been in love with him for _six months_ and it's taken you this long to realize it?"

"I don't know," she shrugs. "I guess I've just tried to ignore it, hoped it would go away."

"Honey," Jack says patiently, "something like this never goes away. It won't disappear just because you want it to. It sticks in your heart, holds fast until you're ready to accept it."

She closes her eyes and leans her head back against the couch. "But how am I supposed to _tell him_?"

Smiling, Jack advises, "If you love him as much as you say you do, then you'll trust him. And if he loves you, which he does –"

She lifts her head to scrutinize her father. "How do you know?"

"Believe me, honey, a guy like him can't fake a love like that. But my point is that he loves you, and he'll forgive you."

"Are you sure?"

"Of course," he nods. "Now go to him. You have to tell him before it's too late."

'**Cause I'm a gypsy  
But are you coming with me?  
I might steal your clothes  
And wear them if they fit me  
I never made agreements  
Just like a gypsy  
And I won't back down  
**'**Cause life's already hurt me  
And I won't cry  
I'm too young to die  
If you're gonna quit me**  
'**Cause I'm a gypsy**

In the quiet of the night, Sarah slips in through the unlocked window and into Chuck's room. She purses her lips, reminding herself to have another talk with him about home security in the morning. But for now, she has bigger things on her mind.

With a deep breath, she wipes her moist palms on the silk of her gown and looks at Chuck, snoring softly.

Her heart drops out of her chest, and she has to force a breath into her lungs to keep herself from going lightheaded. He looks so calm, so gentle, so . . . innocent. How could she ever have thought of breaking his heart?

Tearing her eyes away, she steps out of her dress and leaves it in a green puddle on the floor before rifling through his dresser drawers to locate a t-shirt. She sheds her bra, pulls a _Super_ _Mario Brothers_ tee over her head, and climbs under the covers beside him. Chuck stirs slightly at her presence, instinctively moving against her, and a shiver goes through her at the feel of his hand upon her thigh. She lets out a long, slow breath in an attempt to calm her racing pulse, but a smile appears on her lips in spite of every conflicting feeling she's experienced over the past seven months.

She leans into him, leans her head into his chest and takes a deep breath, inhaling his scent. She loves just being next to him and breathing him in, because this is the only place she's ever felt safe, the only place she's ever felt truly loved.

But she's a gypsy at heart. She's meant to be roaming the world, making her way by her charms and using her intellect as her currency. She's meant to be a citizen of the planet.

She's not meant to stay in one place.

Or maybe she's simply never tried.

She sighs and lifts a hand against his chest, feeling his heartbeat – warm and full – against her palm.

"I don't know what I'm doing, Chuck," she whispers, her words muffled against his t-shirt. "All I know is that I love you."

She stretches her neck to press a kiss to the underside of his jaw. In the morning. She'll tell him all in the morning. Right now, though, all she wants to do is fall asleep in the comfort of his arms.

But when she wakes, she wakes to an empty bed.

She finds Chuck in the kitchen, along with Ellie and Awesome. Ellie suggests a day at the park, and they spend the entire day – the entire weekend – with the other couple. Sarah almost laughs at the irony. Just when she wants a moment alone to explain, she can't get him to herself.

**I said hey, you  
You're no fool  
If you say 'no'  
Ain't it just the way life goes?  
People fear what they don't know  
Come along for the ride  
Come along for the ride**

Sarah knocks on the door of Chuck's office, taking a breath to squash down all the doubt inside. She feels like she's spent all her time with him convincing herself that she deserves him, and all she wants to do is step past it and get on with their life together. Hearing a muffled 'Come in,' she opens the door and steps inside.

Chuck's at his desk, but upon seeing her, he quickly ends his phone call and gets up to greet her. Smiling, he wraps her in an embrace and places a soft kiss on her lips.

"Hey, there," he says happily. "I didn't know you were dropping by."

She holds up a take-out bag. "I thought I'd bring you some lunch."

"Oh, you're amazing," he breathes, taking her by the hand and leading her over to the couch. "I'm starving, but I haven't had time to eat yet."

"Are you too busy? I can just leave the food if you are."

Chuck shakes his head with a grin and says, "Of course not. I'm never too busy for you."

Frowning, she leans forward to place her hand on his neck. "You work too hard, you know. It's already one-thirty, and I bet you haven't stopped working since you came in. You probably wouldn't have stopped at all if I hadn't showed up."

"That's not true!" he protests with a laugh, pecking her on the lips. "Bryce came in around eleven and made me take a break."

"Oh, well, I'm glad at least someone else around here has some sense," she chuckles.

He peers into the take-out bag, takes out a calzone and some napkins to hand to her. "I appreciate you dropping by to check up on me, though."

Sarah drops her eyes and smiles shyly. "What are girlfriends for?" she asks quietly.

His brow creases as he scrutinizes her, and he gently takes her hand in his. "Hey," he says, "how would you feel about taking off for a few days?"

Sarah looks up at him in surprise. "But just last week, you said you couldn't get away."

He shrugs and slides an arm around her waist. "Well, I'll make some time."

"You're good to me," she murmurs, her forehead resting against his. "Too good to me."

Stroking her cheek with his thumb, he whispers, "Never too good. You deserve more than I can give you."

Sarah rises from the couch abruptly and crosses the room. She stands by the window, a palm against the warm glass, her gaze taking in the view but not really seeing it. When she turns to look back at him, Chuck has a confused expression on his face.

"I don't deserve you," she tells him, shaking her head.

His gaze piercing hers, he says quietly, "Okay, Sarah, I'm listening." She cocks her head questioningly, and he elucidates, "You've been wanting to tell me something for days now, and I haven't exactly been receptive. So . . . I'm listening."

"I don't, I don't really know how to start."

"Then take your time. I'll be here when you're ready."

Sarah stares across the room into his eyes. It's now or never, and she's never felt so lucky.

She exhales shakily. "I'm not exactly who you think I am, Chuck." He doesn't say anything, just waits patiently for her to continue. Wiping her palms on her jeans, she tells him, "I never meant to hurt you, never thought it would end up like this." She runs a hand through her hair and contemplates her next words before sputtering, "I'm a con artist. So is my father. The only thing I've been taught since I was seven is the best ways to get money out of people. And that's what the past seven months have been – all a con. . . . I'm so, so sorry, Chuck."

Chuck stands up, walks over to her, and takes her hands in his. "Are you finished?" he asks. She nods, and he presses a kiss to her forehead. "Well, in that case," he says, "thanks for telling me."

Sarah backs away a few steps to stare at him. "That's all you can say? I tell you that I've been lying to you for our entire relationship and all you can say is 'thanks'?" She spits out the last word, confused, upset, expecting the worst from him. She'd been prepared for betrayal, not acceptance, and she almost wants him to yell at her, to demand an explanation for how she could treat him like that.

But before she can say anything else, the door pops open and Bryce pokes his head in.

"Everything okay, guys? We heard some shouting."

"Everything's fine, Bryce," Chuck tells him. "Sorry if we got a bit loud. We'll try to keep it down."

"Sure thing." Bryce's gaze flickers over to Sarah and he asks Chuck, "Did you read that article I gave you this morning?"

"Yeah, Bryce," he says, ushering his VP out the door, "I read it."

Nodding, Bryce backs out of the room. "Sure, buddy. Sorry."

Chuck shuts the door and keeps his back to her. Sarah frowns as she gazes at his form.

Crossing her arms, she sighs and says, "Okay, Chuck. Explain it to me."

He turns and leans against the door, quirking a small smile. "Bryce is like a brother to me. He watches out for me, but he can also get a little overprotective. So, a few weeks after we started dating, when we were first getting serious, he, uh, he hired a PI. Just to make sure you weren't going to try to take down the company or anything."

Sarah sinks onto the corner of Chuck's desk. Her eyes wander around and land on a magazine lying open. There's a photo of the two of them from Friday's party, and the headline reads, _Gaming Wunderkind Dates Mystery Woman?_

"You checked up on me?" she breathes.

"Well, Bryce did. He insisted. He does it to his girlfriends, too."

"What'd you find?"

"That you've only been Sarah Walker for eight months. That you've had over fifty identities in your twenty-eight years. That you were born –"

"Stop," she says, holding up a hand and closing her eyes. "If you knew all this, why didn't you break up with me the first chance you got?"

Chuck steps toward her. "Remember that night at the pier? Bryce told me that morning about your past. He wanted me to end it, and I . . . well, I was considering it. And then we went to the pier, and we just talked for hours, and . . . " His hands in his pockets, he shrugs and shakes his head. "I couldn't do it. For some crazy reason, I trusted you. And sometime during that night, between the cotton candy and the ocean and the talk about sandwiches and desert islands, I began to see _you_. Not Sarah Walker, not Katie O'Connell, not Rebecca Franco – just you."

Sarah bites her lip and meets him in the middle of the room. "And you liked what you saw?"

Smiling, he tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. "More than liked," he says. "And unless I was fooling myself, I'm pretty sure you were starting to fall for me, too."

She looks into his warm eyes, returns his smile, and slides her hands to his chest. "You weren't fooling yourself."

"Would I be fooling myself now if I said you loved me?" he asks, sliding his arms around her waist.

She winds her arms about his neck, curls her fingers into his hair. "No, you wouldn't be," she tells him before capturing his lips.

When they break apart, Chuck has a wide, toothy grin on his face. "Let's get away, Sarah. Let's, I don't know, elope to Vegas."

Sarah lets out a delighted laugh, pulling him backwards so she's leaning against the desk. But then she looks up into his eyes and sees, despite his jesting tone, how serious he is. "You're joking," she says, trying to call his bluff.

"No," he shakes his head. "I'm completely serious, Sarah. I want you in my life, and I hope you want me in yours."

"B-but I just told you that I'm a con artist," she stammers.

"But you told me the truth," he smiles.

"Still . . . I'm not like you, Chuck. You and your family, you have something wonderful. I lost my innocence long ago. You deserve someone as good as you."

Instead of arguing, Chuck merely smiles and requests, "Tell me how you feel about me."

"You know how I feel," she says, a faint blush rising to her cheeks.

He chuckles softly. "But I want to hear it from you."

She pulls his head down towards her, leans her cheek against his. "I'm in love with you, Charles Bartowski," she murmurs. "Head over heels."

Laughing, he brushes a kiss over her earlobe. "And I'm a fool for you, Sarah Walker. And two people crazy about each other should put each other out of their misery and get married, shouldn't they?"

She runs her thumb contemplatively along the back of his neck. "I would love to marry you, but you have to do me one favor first."

"Anything," he breathes.

"I want a prenup." He shakes his head, but before he can object, she continues, "I want you to be sure that, if we ever separate, I won't take a penny from you."

"Sarah, I'm not getting a prenup. I know how we feel about each other, and we're not going to separate."

"It's not for you, or even for me. It's for everyone else – Bryce, Ellie . . . I don't want to hurt them."

"Well, Ellie adores you, and Bryce is an ass most of the time, so . . . my answer is still 'no'."

She squints at him. "I'm never going to win this one, am I?"

"No," he laughs. "This is one thing I get."

"I can think of one more thing you can get," she says, beaming.

"Oh, yeah? What's that?"

"A wife. . . . That is, if you still want her?"

"Oh, I want her all right," he declares, leaning in for another kiss.

'**Cause I'm a gypsy  
But are you coming with me?  
I might steal your clothes  
And wear them if they fit me  
I never made agreements  
Just like a gypsy  
And I won't back down**  
'**Cause life's already hurt me  
And I won't cryI'm too young to die  
If you're gonna quit me**  
'**Cause I'm a gypsy**

"You look absolutely beautiful," Ellie says, adjusting the lace veil one final time.

Sarah, breathing deeply, takes a step away to look into the full-length mirror across the room. "Thanks, Ellie," she smiles.

Ellie squeezes her hand. "Nervous?"

"You have no idea," Sarah chuckles lightly.

"What are you talking about?" Ellie asks with a smile. "I was a nervous wreck at my wedding. Remember?"

Nodding, Sarah smoothes the folds of her ivory gown. "Of course. But you and Devon have been together for years. You're amazing together. Me? I never thought I could be lucky enough to meet a man like your brother."

"Well, trust me, Sarah," Ellie says, "he feels pretty darn lucky as well." Standing behind her, Ellie takes her by the shoulders and pokes her head over to look into their reflection. "Now, you are going to go out there, and walk down that aisle, and make my brother the happiest man in the world. Got it?"

"Got it," Sarah smiles, biting back her nerves. "But what about the butterflies that are currently trying to escape from my stomach?"

Ellie turns her around to look her in the eye. "Listen to me, Sarah. When you step out of this room, you forget everything. Forget about everyone else in this church. Forget about that feeling in your stomach that makes you feel like you'd rather run to the nearest bathroom than walk down that endless aisle. All you do is look into his eyes. When you do that, you'll know if this is right or not."

Sarah looks straight into her soon-to-be sister-in-law's eyes – brown, like her brother's. "And what if it's not?"

Instead of threatening or reassuring her, Ellie just laughs and plants a friendly kiss on her cheek. "Everything's going to be fine, Sarah."

And the thing is, everything _is_ fine, more than fine really.

Ellie stuffs a bouquet into her hands and leads her out into the back of the church, where her father is waiting. When the bridal procession begins, Sarah remembers Ellie's advice. She throws everything else away, forgets the guests and the music and even her father's arm around hers. Instead, she looks down the aisle and meets Chuck's gaze.

A grin springs to his face, causing the butterflies in her stomach to instantly calm. Her palms don't feel so moist anymore, her heart's not racing so fast. She smiles back at him, and she knows.

She's going to spend the rest of her life with this man.

And, even though she's still convincing herself that she deserves a guy like him, she knows she's going to do everything she can to make their life worth his time. Watching the grin grow on his face, she's pretty sure he's thinking the same thing about her.

And striding down that aisle – as she follows a woman she's come to view as her sister, feels the comforting presence of her father beside her, and walks towards the man who's stolen her heart and is about to become her husband – Sarah finds that she couldn't be happier.


	37. Parachute

Song: "Parachute," by Train.

A/N: Okay, well, I wanted to try something a bit different for this chapter, so it morphed into a five times fic, except now it's Seven Times Chuck Bartowski Gives Sarah Walker Flowers. This is really nothing but a bit of fluff, lol, and I apparently can't stay away from the number seven. There's also a tiny homage to _Our Mutual Friend_ hidden in here. Bonus points to anyone who can spot it!

This was going to be a Happy Premiere Day present, but I wasn't sure if I'd get a chance to post it before tomorrow evening, when I figured all of you would be watching the new episodes anyway. So happy early premiere, and yay for a new season! :D

As usual, thanks to **BillatWork **for the beta!

* * *

The morning after he gets the Intersect out of his head, and she agrees to leave the CIA for him, he makes sure she wakes up to a vase of gardenias on the bedside table.

He wakes up beside her as well, the feel of her in his arms, the scent of her mingled with fresh flowers in his lungs.

And, his eyes still closed against the warm sunlight, he smiles, because he's never experienced a better morning.

**I wanna take you with me  
To life with no more yesterdays  
We can start again awake and so excited  
And change the way we always push  
We always push**

Chuck Bartowski has a grin on his face and a messenger bag around his shoulder as he strolls down the hallway and raps cheerfully on the green door of his fiance's apartment.

She doesn't answer right away, which he expects. Ever since he teased her about always knowing when he was coming, she lets him knock and stew outside for a few minutes.

But she always placates him with a kiss.

He leans a hand against the door frame, and she opens the door a moment later.

"Hey," Sarah greets brightly, grabbing onto his collar and pulling him down for a lingering kiss.

He groans happily, stumbles slightly as she drags him into the room. She tastes of cinnamon and chai tea, and he finds himself smiling against her lips.

"Hey, yourself," he murmurs back, his voice husky.

She laughs and, keeping her hands in his, takes a step back. He can feel her engagement ring pressing against his fingers, the warm metal reassuring. She lifts her eyebrows and swings her hips, a silent query regarding her outfit.

Chuck runs his eyes over the blue top with the little buttons, the tight black jeans, the high black boots. "I approve," he chuckles. He raises his eyebrows in a matching expression and asks, "My turn?"

He swallows a bit nervously as she slides her gaze over his outfit – a dark blue button-down, nice jeans, his normal black converses. Sarah finally gives him the nod of approval and leans up for another kiss.

"Very dapper, Mr. Bartowski," she smiles. Resettling onto her feet, she straightens his collar. "So, what do you have planned for tonight?"

He shrugs. "I was thinking our classic: hit up the movie theater and take a stroll on the pier?"

Swinging his arm, she replies, "Sounds amazing. I do have one question, though."

"What's that?"

"Do you think we'll be doing the same thing for our dates even after we get married? Ten years down the road?"

He purses his lips, pretending to think, then hooks his arms around her waist and drags her against him. "I promise to come up with a new routine by then."

She laughs, pecking him on the lips. "Thanks, hon."

"Can I ask _you_ a question now?"

Sarah slides against him as they make their way out the door. "Shoot."

"Why are you still living here?"

Sarah stops them in their tracks in the middle of the hallway, leans a hand against his chest. "Chuck, believe me, I _love_ waking up next to you, but we're going to have the rest of our lives for that. Living apart until the wedding is just something that I want to do, especially since it's one of the only normal things I'll get to do. You understand, right?"

"Yeah," he smiles, rubbing her arm. "But it's a good thing our engagement's so short. You'd drive a guy crazy if you insisted on waiting for years."

"You have to admit," Sarah says as they stop in front of the elevator and she presses the 'down' button, "after waiting nearly four years to _really_ be together, another few weeks to get married is nothing."

Chuck laughs and spins her toward him. "Why do I have the feeling that you're going to win all our arguments?"

She latches her arms about his neck, teasing his hair with her thumbs, and grins wickedly. "Mmm, maybe because I am?"

"Very funny. Oh, hey!" he exclaims, rifling through his messenger bag. "I almost forgot."

Regarding him suspiciously, Sarah retreats a step as he pulls an object out of his bag. Gallantly, he hands her a bouquet of chocolate flowers, thankfully not melted from the time they've spent in his bag.

A gleeful gasp escapes her lips as she scoops up the delicacies. "How'd you know?"

"Please," he grins cockily, wrapping his lanky arms around her waist and moving in for a kiss. "I _always_ know."****

I'll open up and be your parachute  
And I'll never let you down  
So open up and be my human angel  
And we'll only hit the ground  
Running

Hearing the front door open as his wife returns from work, Chuck hastily lights the second candle on the dining room table. A tiny thread of smoke curls toward the ceiling as he waves out the match. He puts on his best innocent look and stands next to the table, which is covered with a deep red tablecloth and a completely home cooked meal.

Well, not _completely_ home cooked. Ellie's never made pierogies, so he had to turn to Mrs. T for those. But he did _cook_ them. Honestly.

"Chuck?" he hears from the threshold. "Sweetie? Are you home?"

Her voice trails off, and he grins to himself. She's found them.

But then his eyebrows narrow and his heart rate starts to increase when she doesn't immediately appear in the dining room, metaphorically jumping for joy. What if she doesn't like it?

But then Sarah appears from the hallway, a suspicious look dancing in her radiant blue eyes. She's dressed in a casual, charcoal detective suit with a cranberry button-down (he loves that color on her). Having shed her heels by the front door, though, she's clad in only her socks, bright green ones with mooing cows on them – a gift from Ellie.

Chuck smiles at her in the hopes of winning her over. "Surprise?" he says weakly.

Her gaze sweeps over the set-up – the table, the dinner, the candles, the stereo in the corner (from whence drift the low tones of Arcade Fire), and finally back down to the trail of rose petals on the floor.

She lifts an eyebrow. "Really, Chuck? Rose petals?"

He deflates, blows out the candles, and begins to gather the silverware of the nearest place setting. "Well, fine," he says. "It should only take me half-an-hour to get this all cleaned up, and I'm sure Morgan will appreciate all the time I took cooking this."

He's too wrapped up in feeling hurt that he doesn't notice how close she is now. But he feels it when she grabs his lapel and pulls him down toward her, their mouths melding together fiercely. She's teasing him, like she likes to do so often, but right now, with her tongue dancing over his and the taste of cinnamon assaulting him, he doesn't particularly care.

Sarah breaks away with a chuckle. "But seriously, rose petals?" The way she runs her hands over his chest, though, lets him know that she likes the surprise. Most of it, anyway.

"Okay," he admits sheepishly, "maybe I went a bit overboard."

Looking down at the strewn petals, she notes, "They don't end here."

"Ah," he says, holding up a finger in explanation, "that's because the next stop is the bathroom, where I will treat you to a luxury bubble bath and massage."

She leans closer. "And then the bedroom?" she purrs.

He swallows and takes a hesitant step backward, slightly alarmed by the predatory look in her eye. "Yep," he squeaks, "then there."

"You know," she begins innocently enough, "I _do_ need to change out of this suit."

Sometimes his wife can be a scary, scary woman when she wants something. But then again, she can be very giving as well . . .

"And?" he prompts.

She smiles, taking his hand and dragging him out into the hall. "Aaand this can wait."

"But the food'll get cold." he says in feeble protestation.

Sarah plants a soft kiss on his neck, right below his jaw, and hooks her forefingers into the belt loops of his jeans. "Chuck," she hums, "that's what our microwave's for. Now, are you going to help me unwind from work, or am I going to have to convince you?"

A grin springs to Chuck's face as he follows his wife down the hallway, their hands latched together, Sarah walking backwards as she guides him.

"Depends," he tells her with a shrug.

"Oh, really?" she laughs. "On what?"

"Are these going to be aggressive negotiations?"

Sarah's eyes sparkle mischievously. "Well, you know me. I have ways of making you cooperate."

**And when the world gets sharp and tries to cut you down to size  
And makes you feel like giving in  
Oh, I will stay, I will rain, I will wash the words and pain away  
And I will chase away the way we push  
The way we pull  
You're beautiful**

The house is silent as Chuck walks through the front door, shucks his converses, and sets down the bags in his hands. He heads to the bedroom first, but she's not there. All he finds is her gun and badge on the top of the dresser. He does, however, find her in the bathroom.

She's sunk down in the tub, bubbles covering everything up to her chin. Just the miserable expression on her face makes him want to scoop her up in his arms and tell her everything's going to be all right.

But it's never that simple with Sarah.

So he takes a seat on the tile floor, leaning his back against the cabinet below the sink and bending his knees so the tips of his toes touch the tub.

Clearing his throat, he says, "I talked to Crews. He told me what happened."

Sarah's mouth twitches. "We had him," she whispers. "We had him, Chuck, and he got off on a stupid _legality_."

"It's just one guy, Sarah."

"One guy who murdered five," she fumes quietly.

He regards her closely for a moment before shifting his position, sliding onto his knees and leaning his forearms on the rim of the bathtub. "Listen to me, sweetie," he says, his voice soft but emphatic, "I know you probably think one criminal getting off ruins your perfect record –"

She opens her mouth to object, but he holds up a hand.

"You're not an agent anymore, Sarah. You're a detective, and detectives have to work within the system. It's not your fault, and no one can hold it against you – even yourself – if the system just . . . doesn't work sometimes."

Sighing heavily, Sarah leans her head back against the tub. "It shouldn't work that way."

"I know, babe. But you've already done all you can. What else are you going to do? Grab your gun and take care of him yourself?"

As soon as the words cross his lips, Chuck's sure he's said the wrong thing. Sarah's eyes flash the way they do when she's recalling a past gunfight or a particularly brutal brawl, like she's recalling a former life.

"I didn't mean it seriously," he tells her quickly. "That was not a suggestion. Sarah."

For the first time, Sarah turns her ocean-blue eyes on his. Her expression softening, she leans forward and grasps his hand in her soapy one. "Don't worry, Chuck. I know those days are over for me." She pauses, squeezes his hand. Her voice is low and soft when she says, "I love my new job, and I love that I can still serve my country."

"Good," he smiles.

"And I love that it lets me be with _you_."

She leans forward to kiss him before he gets a chance to reply. And when she breaks away, teasing his lips ever so slightly, she has a smile on her face.

"Come on," he says as he stands up and brushes off his jeans. "I brought home take-out and movie rentals. We are going to kick back and forget about all of this."

The water cascades off of her as she rises, and she accepts the fluffy blue towel he holds out. Wrapping it around herself, she holds his hand and steps out of the bathtub. "Chick flicks?" she asks hopefully.

"More or less," Chuck laughs. "We've got our standards – _Pride and Prejudice_, _Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind_, _The Princess Bride_, _Gattaca_ –"

She places a warning hand on his chest. "Please tell me you remembered –"

"Sarah, it's me," he assures her with a crooked grin. "Of course I got _Steel Magnolias_."

He's never quite understood the draw of that movie for her, but what he does understand is the feel of her wrapped in his arms as she bawls her eyes out during the ending. And for his effort in securing the movie, he's rewarded with a mind-blowing kiss.****

I'll open up and be your parachute  
And I'll never let you down  
So open up and be my human angel  
And we'll only hit the ground  
Running

Chuck Bartowski is not a stupid man.

In fact, he's very, very bright. However, on occasion, he has been known to do some very stupid things.

Which is why he's alone in his house, sitting on the couch and clutching a vibrantly red carnation.

Biting the corner of his lip, he twists his wedding band. He hasn't seen Sarah since this afternoon, and he's starting to wonder if she'll even come back home tonight. It won't be the first time she's threatened to stay with Ellie, but it would be the first time she'll have followed through.

It hadn't been his fault really. As the president of his own computer security company, he has a responsibility to get that company onto its feet, a responsibility which compels him to take on each and every client that comes his way. It's not his fault that today's client happened to be a pretty, overly-friendly brunette who had no concept of personal space.

And she had cupcakes! How could he say 'no' to cupcakes?

Of course, she _does _own a bakery . . .

Sighing, he tilts his head and stares up at the ceiling. He's not quite sure how long he stays there, but he has no energy to do any of his normal time-passing activities – video games, comic books, TV show marathons.

So it's a relief when he finally hears the front door open. He sits up straight, jumping to his feet when she walks through the doorway.

"Sarah . . ."

She is _not_ happy. Her mouth is set in a tight line, and there's anger flashing in her eyes. He hasn't been on the receiving end of a look that severe since they were working for the government, but it can still make him quake in his shoes.

"Sorry I'm home so late," she tells him shortly. "I was at Ellie and Awesome's. Now I'm going to bed."

With that, she turns on her heel and walks out on him.

"Sarah, wait!" he pleads, catching up with her in the hallway and placing a hand on her shoulder.

She pauses but doesn't turn around, and he nervously holds the carnation out to her.

"Just let me explain," he requests softly.

She doesn't move for a moment, but finally, her slender fingers curl around the delicate stem of the flower. Slowly, she spins around.

"Thirty seconds."

He breathes out in relief. "Look, it was stupid. She was just a client, and she was a little . . . over-enthusiastic about working with us, that's all. She was a little hands-on, I know, and I'm so unbelievably sorry."

"Fine," Sarah says, not sounding forgiving at all. As she resumes her stomp toward the bedroom, she mutters, "Why is it _always_ brunettes?"

Chuck's heart falls at her dismissive acceptance of his apology, but then –

"Wait, what are you talking about?"

Turning into their room, Sarah huffs. She heads straight toward the dresser and begins to rifle through it for pajamas. "You're charming, Chuck. I get it. It's part of the reason I fell in love with you. But do you have to always encourage them?" She wheels around to accuse, "I mean, for God's sake, did she even know you were married?"

He's followed her closely, and now she's brandishing the flower like a sword at his chest. He instinctively holds up his hands in a gesture of surrender. Her gaze piercing his, Sarah exhales slowly and lets her arm fall.

"Come on, Sarah," he entreats calmly. "That's not fair. I'd never do anything to hurt you. I _was_ in the process of pushing her away, but I guess you didn't stay long enough to see that."

Sarah softens. "Chuck . . ."

Chuck offers her a crooked smile. "Do you realize how stupid we're acting?"

Laughing quietly, she collapses onto the edge of the bed. "I'm sorry, Chuck. I know I can overreact when I get jealous."

"Believe me, I'm well aware," he says dryly as he takes a seat next to her. He takes her chin in his hand. "But you have nothing to be sorry for. If you don't wake up each and every day knowing how much I love you, then I haven't been a good enough husband."

"Chuck, come on," she says with an eye roll.

He purses his lips and meets her gaze. He finally tells her, "I assigned the installation to Anna."

"So Anna gets to deal with this woman who gives out cupcakes and hugs like they'll be extinct tomorrow?"

"Yep," he chuckles as she tickles his nose with the flower.

"See?" she asks rhetorically, winding her arms around his neck. "I always knew you were amazing."****

And if it feels like we might drop  
It will stop  
So don't look down  
It wouldn't be the same without you  
This life is too good to give up on

Chuck smiles as he and Sarah stroll down the park path, their linked arms swinging between them. Her fingers loose in his, Sarah lets her gaze glide absently over their surroundings. The park's fairly deserted, just a group of kids a ways off playing football and laughing. Her eyes settle on the game, her attention finally caught.

He sneaks a glance at her – the long blonde hair, the blue eyes, the amazing smile – a smile, which, he notes, is currently missing.

He pulls her close enough to gently nudge her shoulder. "You okay, hon?"

She drags her eyes away from the football game to give him an unconvincing smile. "Of course. Why would you ask?"

Chuck shrugs, trying to keep the concern out of his expression. "You've just been really quiet lately, that's all."

She stops walking and steps closer to him. Her smile grows wider, more genuine, and her eyes begin to sparkle. Fisting his shirt in her hand, she asks quietly, "What, you think I'm keeping secrets from you, Mr. Bartowski?"

"Well, I don't know, Mrs. Bartowski," he replies. "Should I be worried?"

They resume walking, Sarah leading him by the hand. "For a guy who had secrets in his brain for so long," she chuckles, "you're not so adept at figuring out other people's."

Chuck regards her curiously. "Wait, does that mean you _do_ have some?"

"Just one."

"Well, what is it?"

Sarah turns around with a smile and teases, "If I told you, it wouldn't be a secret, now would it?"

He quickens his pace to catch up with her. "What do you mean? A secret shared is a secret doubled. Isn't that how the phrase goes?"

"Not exactly," she laughs. Stopping in front of a park bench, she pushes him gently on the shoulder and he falls onto the bench. "But I think I'm ready to tell you mine."

Chuck tilts his head to look up at her with an expectant smile.

Taking a deep breath, she grasps his hand and places it over her abdomen, both of her hands covering his. He drops his gaze to their locked hands, and she watches him calmly, watches the understanding spread across his face.

"Seriously?" he asks breathlessly. "Are you . . ."

Speechless, Sarah nods.

Laughing, he stands, scoops her up into a fierce hug, and spins her around. Her golden hair streams behind her; her delighted laughter floats on the breeze. She tangles her fingers into his hair and kisses him as he sets her back down on the ground.

His hand still in Sarah's, he turns to no one in particular and shouts, "We're gonna be parents!"

"Chuck!" she laughs, slapping him playfully on the chest. "You're probably scaring those kids over there."

"I don't care," he replies, grinning widely. He pulls her closer, cups her face and runs his thumb over her cheekbone. "I don't care, Sarah." He tries to say something else to express what he's feeling, but he's so overwhelmed that all he can do is kiss her again.

Sarah smiles against his lips, pulling back to murmur, "I love you."

Spotting a bed of roses out of the corner of his eye, Chuck breaks away and kneels down to nip one. He spins on his knee to face her, offering her the crimson flower.

"I don't believe I've told you today how much I adore you."

Lightly plucking the rose out of his hand, she holds it up to her nose and inhales deeply. She takes a step closer so he can wrap his arms around her waist. "Well, you know me, Mr. Bartowski. I prefer actions to speech."

He grins, waggling his eyebrows up and down. "In that case, what do you say we go back home and I can show you just how much I love you?"

Sarah slides a hand into his hair and leans down to press a soft, lingering kiss to his lips. Quirking a smile, she whispers, "Sounds perfect."****

I'll open up and be your parachute  
And I'll never let you down  
So open up and be my human angel  
And we'll only hit the ground  
And we're gonna hit the ground  
Running

The baby monitor crackles to life, and Chuck, slowly returning to consciousness, can hear the weak cries of their infant son. He takes a deep breath and runs his tongue over his teeth. He'll never get used to being awoken in the middle of the night, but since it was Sarah's turn earlier, he sucks it up and slides out from beneath her.

"Chuck . . ." she groans quietly, protesting the loss of his body heat.

"Sarah . . ." he mumbles back, stretching in the moonlight that squeezes through the slats of the window blind.

"Pillow . . ." she grumbles.

Chuckling softly, he rubs his eyes, stumbles around the bed, and answers, "Baby . . ."

He turns in the doorway to see her curl up into the covers with a huff. Smiling, he shuffles out of the bedroom and down the hall toward the nursery. His smile grows wider as he turns into the room and is greeted by his four-month-old.

As soon as he walks into the nursery, he's struck by it, that feeling of joy that comes every single time he lays eyes on his son. It's a feeling that makes getting up at two in the morning worth every second.

Of course, he's also greeted by exhausted whimpers from the infant, whimpers which tug at heartstrings he hadn't known he'd possessed until a few months earlier. Chuck walks across the room, leans his forearms on the crib, and peers down inside.

With a full head of thick, dark hair and a big, wide smile (though that feature is currently absent), Colin Casey Bartowski takes after his father. But those blue eyes that shine in the moonlight belong to his mother.

Chuck reaches a hand down, and Colin, his eyes teary but his cries subsiding, latches a fist around his father's forefinger.

"What's a matter, munchkin? Huh?" Catching a whiff of the odor from his son's diaper, Chuck scrunches up his nose. "Oh, I think I found the culprit."

He scoops up the baby and carries him over to the changing table. Once he's in a fresh diaper, Colin's smile is back in place.

"There you go," Chuck laughs as he settles into the rocking chair and holds Colin to his chest. "Yeah, we're good now. Are you ready for tomorrow, buddy? We've got a big day." He's about to say more, but then remembers the baby monitor and that Sarah might not be asleep again yet. So he smiles and softly sings a lullaby as Colin drifts back to sleep.

In the morning, he and Colin head outside before Sarah's even awake. Colin, bundled up against the February air and sitting in a papoose against Chuck's chest, giggles as they bounce down the sidewalk. Mable's Flower Shop isn't usually open this early, but Chuck has become a regular customer over the past few years and he's called ahead especially for this occasion.

Mable, a middle-aged woman with auburn hair and kind hazel eyes, opens the door as he jaunts up the steps.

"Hey, Mable," Chuck smiles.

She pulls him into a hug, making sure not to crush Colin. Stepping back, she kisses the crown of the baby's head and ruffles his hair. "Good morning, Chuck. Morning, Colin! How's Sarah?"

"Great, great. How's Bill?"

"Doing just fine," she answers as she steps behind the counter. She opens a cooler and pulls out a stunning arrangement of white flowers. Turning back to the boys, Mable says, "Always gardenias. Gorgeous flowers. Your wife has excellent taste."

"And you always make the best arrangements," Chuck grins, laying the payment on the counter. "Thank you, Mable."

"Anything for you and Sarah," she says, adding with a laugh, "And now Colin!"

"Well, we're very grateful. Thanks again."

Chuck scoops up the flowers and the boys take their leave, Mable waving goodbye from the stoop. They make one last stop at the croissant shop before heading back home. He takes Colin out of the papoose and, juggling the takeout bag and flowers in one hand, creeps into the bedroom. Sarah's still fast asleep, her hair fluttering softly as she breathes out.

He places the croissants on the bedside table, sits down on the edge of the mattress, and shifts Colin to his lap. He rests the flowers on the pillow as he leans over to brush a kiss against Sarah's cheek.

"Wake up, Sarah," he whispers.

She stirs but doesn't open her eyes. "Five more minutes," she mumbles.

He chuckles softly. "Sweetie, wake up," he urges again.

This time she blinks and opens her eyes to look up at him. A smile springs to her face. "Good morning," she drawls, her voice still gravelly from sleep. She stretches and sits up against the headboard, taking Colin into her arms and showering him with kisses. "Morning, cutie. How's my little man?"

"He brought you breakfast," Chuck tells her with a smile, indicating the bag of chocolate croissants on the table.

Sarah lifts a brow. "Are those what I think they are?" Before he can answer, her gaze falls on the gardenias on the pillow. "And flowers? Chuck . . ." She lifts her eyes to his, an affectionate smile gracing her lips. "You're so sweet. C'mere."

Chuck, moving the flowers, scoots into bed next to her. She leans over and grazes her lips over his.

"Thank you, Chuck," she murmurs.

He grins. "Happy birthday, Sarah."


	38. Alone

Song: "Alone," by Heart. (Or Celine Dion, haha.)

A/N: Well, first off, this is dedicated to one of my best buddies, **BillatWork**. He asked for this song a long, long time ago, and I always had trouble thinking of a storyline. But I finally did, so here it is! :)

I've been trying to work with the characters as they are now, and it's been giving me a little bit of trouble, so this isn't my longest or my most creative. But I still think it's a nice piece of fluff for the holiday! Although I warn you that this story disregards 3.07.

Speaking of the holiday, Happy early Anna Howard Shaw Day! :P

**

* * *

I hear the ticking of the clock  
I'm lying here; the room's pitch dark  
I wonder where you are tonight  
No answer on the telephone**

Sarah Walker, finding sleep elusive tonight, props herself up on an elbow and gazes at her empty room. She's been alone all her life, and it's never bothered her before. But ever since Barstow, since Ellie and Awesome's wedding, since Prague, she's longed for something so much more than what she's had to settle for.

It's been nearly eight months since then, and what has she to show for it? She's made no progress, personally or professionally. She's doing the same work she was then, and she's stuck behind the same emotional walls she's built, only they're sturdier, stronger now.

Fleetingly, she thinks of calling Chuck, of meeting him for a late-night chat, but she knows no good will come of it. They can't offer each other any more than friendship right now. With a sigh, she slides out of bed and slips on a pair of jeans and a loose t-shirt. Since she won't be getting any sleep tonight, she may as well catch up on some paperwork.

One thing she doesn't expect, though, is for Shaw to be awake when she gets to Castle. It's past two in the morning; he should be asleep. But he's sitting at the table, engrossed in his own files. He looks up, his eyes bleary, as she walks down the steps.

"Couldn't sleep?" he asks.

Sarah takes a seat across from him with a shake of her head. He slides a file over to her, an implicit request for help, and she takes it gratefully, glad to have something else to concentrate on.

A few moments go by in silence before he says, "I was just about to go for a coffee run. Want anything?"

She looks up. "Yeah, a coffee'd be great."

"Sure, I'll be back in ten," he smiles. As he ascends the stairs, he looks back and says, "Then we can talk about why you can't sleep."

Sarah watches him warily, but he's already turned away. She has no desire to talk to Daniel Shaw about her personal problems, but then she remembers the wedding ring.

Maybe Daniel Shaw is the one person in the world who could actually understand.

**And the night goes by so very slow  
Oh, I hope that it won't end though  
Alone**

Sarah follows with a sigh as Shaw leads her across the plaza the next day. He wants to talk to her privately, but he also wants lunch apparently. A hint of misgiving threads its way through her veins as she realizes where he's headed – Lou's.

"Are you sure you want to eat here?" she asks, just as he reaches for the door handle.

Shaw looks back at her, a gleam in his eye. "I think I know where I want to eat," he answers. Opening the door for her, he continues, "They have excellent pastrami. Have you had it?"

She refrains from answering as she sweeps by him and into the sandwich shop. When Shaw directs her to the sit-down side, any hope that they could grab sandwiches and run flies out the window. Unfortunately, this obviously isn't Sarah's day, because a cute, petite brunette walks up to their table.

"Afternoon," she smiles. "Can I get you something to – Sarah!"

Sarah looks up reluctantly, straight into the waitress's surprised face. "Hi, Lou," she says weakly.

"What a surprise! What are you doing here?" Lou's eyes flicker between Sarah and Shaw. "You're not . . . on a date, are you?"

"Oh, no," Sarah says, laughing nervously. "Definitely not."

And dammit, why can't she keep her cool around this girl?

Shaw simply smiles and explains, "This is a business lunch. Right, Sarah?"

Lou, appraising her, asks, "So you're still with Chuck?"

Sarah tries to keep her smile in place as she lets out a shaky breath. "Uh, it's complicated."

"Of course it is," Lou laughs. "It's Chuck, after all. Anyways, what can I get you to drink?"

"Coffee is fine, thanks."

"I'll have the same," Shaw chimes in, and Lou walks off to grab their drink orders.

Sarah, her mouth contorted in embarrassment and ire, stares at the menu and pointedly refuses to look at Shaw. If he wants to talk to her, let him talk. But she's here for lunch.

A maddening smile on his face, Shaw begins, "Speaking of Chuck, we need to talk about him."

"What about him?"

"I know how you feel about each other."

"Oh, you do?" she replies nonchalantly, eyes skimming over the sandwich items.

"You don't have to skirt around it like this, you know," he says, and even without lifting her eyes, she swears she can hear the smirk in his voice.

Setting the menu down on the table with a _soft_ slap, she looks up, her mouth set in a thin line. "Why don't you just tell me the point of this, then?"

"Fine." He sits back in the booth and gazes at her. "The Intersect only works when you're around."

"What are you talking about?" she asks, genuine confusion in her voice.

"Come on," he says, crossing his arms, "I've watched you together for weeks. The Intersect's faulty, sure, but the one thing I've noticed beyond a doubt is that it always works when you're there, or when Chuck thinks you're in danger."

Sarah sits back against the booth and thinks back over the past two months. She thinks of the time in Mexico, when he'd flashed on the zip line, the same thing he'd apparently had trouble with in training. She remembers the time at Carina's "engagement" party, when he'd flashed on the laser system only after she'd promised they could talk. She recalls last week when he'd flashed on a cell's underwater pressure system to get her out of captivity.

"You realize it now, don't you?" he asks.

Sighing, she looks over at him. "So what's this mean?"

"Do I really have to spell it out for you?" Shaw smiles. "Fine. In order to get the Intersect up to full functioning capacity, you're going to need to be with him as much as possible, at least on missions. You'll also need to be in a good place with each other, no mooning over each other or making googly eyes when the other isn't looking." Sarah scoffs quietly, but Shaw continues, "You understand? For this to work, you can't be Chuck's handler anymore. You have to be his partner. Will you be able to handle that? Will you be able to trust him?"

Hesitantly, Sarah nibbles at the corner of her lower lip before answering, "There's no one I trust more than Chuck." She swallows. "But how is this going to work? I can't just . . . I can't walk up to him and ask him out. It's not that simple with Chuck."

"Trust me," he chuckles. "I've got a plan. This'll work."

Lou brings out their coffee, gives them a few more moments to decide. Sarah takes a slow sip of coffee.

He's an agent now, and there are no rules against fraternization between fellow agents. Besides, Shaw has basically just given them permission to start a relationship, what they've been biding their time for since this all began.

So why is she so afraid?

"Why are you so invested in this?" she asks quietly.

"Because you're my team," he replies simply. "You've already got an outstanding track record. But imagine how unstoppable we could be if the Intersect would stop glitching." Shaw pauses dramatically before adding, "That's the key to defeating the Ring."

It occurs to Sarah that the Ring is everything to Daniel Shaw. Even if the situation were completely different, and Sarah had no feelings for Chuck, Shaw would still force this. He'd put taking down the Ring above personal feelings, and the vicious cycle of seduction and deception would continue unabated. But Sarah stops those thoughts abruptly. It's _not_ like that. She has real, genuine feelings for Chuck. If she didn't, the misunderstanding in Prague never would have happened.

And he never would have broken her heart.

A part of her is terrified that he'll do it again, that she'll hand her heart over only to have him shatter it.

"What if I say 'no'?" she asks.

"Come on, Sarah," he urges, a smile playing over his lips. But when she doesn't respond, he sobers and says thoughtfully, "We're kindred spirits, I think. I lost someone very close to me. . . And I can't stand by and watch the two of you push each other away like this, not when each moment could be the last."

She's never heard him speak so passionately, and if even a spy like Daniel Shaw is supportive of a relationship, then shouldn't she at least give that some merit?

She lets out a sigh, and lets out the tension in her shoulders. "So how would this work? The CIA would sanction our relationship?"

"Yes. As long as the team's performance improved. So you see, everyone wins." He takes a sip of coffee, scrutinizing her over the rim of the mug. "So what do you say, Sarah?"

She's quiet for a moment, contemplating. She wants this. She's wanted it for two-and-a-half years now, ever since that night he'd teased her about suffering through her kiss. For two-and-a-half years, love's been within their grasp, but they've been too afraid to reach out and seize it.

Isn't it time to take what they deserve?

After swallowing a sip of coffee, Sarah looks up to meet Shaw's gaze. "Okay," she says quietly, "so what's the plan?"

**Till now I always got by on my own  
I never really cared until I met you  
And now it chills me to the bone  
How do I get you alone?  
How do I get you alone?**

"_This_ was your plan?" Sarah shouts at a shirtless, supine Shaw as she watches Chuck storm out of her hotel room.

Shaw rubs his chin, but when he sits up and looks at her, there's an unmistakable sparkle in his eye. "It's working," he says. "Trust me."

"You keep saying that," she tells him, exasperated, "but why should I?" With a scoff, she walks across the room and grabs the ice bucket from the dresser.

"What are you doing?" he asks, eyes wide.

"You just got punched. I'm going to get you ice."

Shaw shakes his head and says vehemently, "No, you can't. You have to go after Chuck. I didn't think I'd have to explain to you _that_ part of the plan."

Sarah stares at him, ready to argue, but something clicks in her brain. Chuck's probably in the lobby by now, and there's no way she can let this opportunity slip between her fingers. Shoving the ice bucket into his hands, she says quickly, "There's an ice machine in the hallway!" and races out of the room.

Too impatient to wait for the elevator, she throws open the door to the stairs and runs down them two at a time. She finds him in the parking lot, walking quickly toward his car, his shoulders slightly hunched like he wants to disappear into himself.

"Chuck!" she calls, but he ignores her. Catching up to him as he makes it to the Herder, she grabs a hold of his arm. "Chuck!"

Scowling, he finally turns to face her.

She runs a hand through her hair as she regains her breath. "Chuck, I . . ."

"Look, you don't have to explain, Sarah," he replies coldly. "I get it."

And the thing is, he doesn't. He doesn't get it at all. And she hates the way he always thinks he does, hates the way he never lets her get a word in edgewise.

Still panting from her race down the stairs, she nevertheless manages to say, "No. No, Chuck. You _don't_ get it. There's nothing going on between Shaw and me."

"Oh, really? Is that why he was in your apartment without a shirt and – oh, yeah! – _kissing you_?"

She crosses her arms. "Why do you care, Chuck?"

He shuts his mouth and looks away. They're at one of their many impasses again, and she wants to growl in frustration. But that won't help. Nothing will. Nothing except . . . Without a warning, she launches herself at him and kisses him, her hands gently grasping his face. Chuck, stunned at first, takes a moment to respond. But when he does, she staggers with the force of his kiss. He wraps his arms around her waist and pulls her close, suddenly insatiable.

She's speechless when they break apart, staring at him to discern his reaction.

Hesitantly, he licks his lips and asks, "Are you confused? Because I'm a little bit confused right now."

"Chuck . . . " She runs a hand through her hair and takes a deep breath.

"Do you ever feel like we're just going around in circles?" he asks as he leans against the hood of the Nerd Herder.

"Yes," she admits, "all the time."

He sighs, his shoulders slumping. "So what do we do about it?"

"How about going on a date with me?" she asks with a nervous laugh.

Chuck, surprise on his face, stands up straight and says, "Are you serious? Isn't that . . . against the rules?"

"It doesn't have to be." She takes a tentative step forward, gently grasps his hand. "We're both agents now. We can make this work."

"I thought . . . I thought you didn't . . ."

Sarah hops up onto the hood of the car with a sigh. "I was angry at you, Chuck, angry at what this life makes of us."

"And I hurt you," he adds softly as he slides up beside her.

"Yeah," she admits, "you did."

He takes her hand. "I'm sorry. I never meant to."

She sighs. They've been through this so many times now, enough to send her head spinning, and she just wants it all to stop. They deserve a real future together. If only they could just figure this out . . .

Turning to him, she smiles. "What do you say we start over?" she asks.

"Like, a third date?" he asks with a timid grin.

"Or a third first date?" she laughs.

"And this'll just be us, right?" he asks. "No bad guys, no surprises, no reassignments come morning?"

"No," she promises, leaning forward to cup his cheek. "Just us."

"Okay," Chuck agrees with a laugh.

Smiling, she inclines her head and brushes her lips over his. Chuck slides a hand to her neck, tangling his fingers into her hair and running his thumb along the underside of her jaw.

She gently teases his lips before pulling back and saying, "I'll swing by around seven."

**You don't know how long I have waited  
And I was going to tell you tonight  
But the secret is still my own  
And my love for you is still unknown  
Alone**

She hasn't been to his apartment since Ellie and Awesome moved across the courtyard, but not much has changed. Morgan is a surprisingly neat housemate, and he _is_ getting Chuck to eat better, so maybe the boys are growing up after all.

Chuck, a grin on his face, welcomes her inside. Once she's in, she can see the dinner set-up on the table – two plates, wine glasses, a candle in between.

"We're staying in tonight?" she asks as he takes her jacket.

"Given our track record with first dates, I thought it was best. Less chance of getting shot at," he laughs.

Smiling, Sarah strolls over to the table and rests her hands on the back of a chair. He shuffles nervously toward her, and she can't fight the fluttering in her stomach. After two and a half years of waiting, it's hard to trust this. The rational part of her keeps insisting that this is all just a crazy dream, that she'll wake up tomorrow and realize that she doesn't deserve this at all. But he's right in front of her, his smell intoxicating, his warmth addicting, and she's finding it hard to pull away.

Sliding her arms around his neck, she drags him close and whispers, "Is this real?"

"It can't be," he replies quietly, a smile tugging at his lips. "But don't wake me up."

And before she can think, before she can breathe, his lips are on hers, gentle, coaxing. She feels as if she's floating and drowning at the same time – floating on air, drowning in him. And the strange thing is, for once in her life, she doesn't care that she's losing control. She's diving off a precipice, freefalling straight into the unknown, but it's okay because she can feel the wind in her hair, and the sun on her face, and she knows he's waiting to catch her.

Sarah pecks him once more on the lips before taking his hand and pulling him toward the table. She sweeps her gaze over the dinner and raises a brow. "So, you cooked for me?"

"Well," he shrugs, "just hamburgers. Nothing special."

"Still, thank you. It's not very often that someone cooks for me."

"Well, after you taste this, you may decide to keep it that way," he chuckles as he pulls out a chair for her.

"And Morgan?" she queries slowly, sitting down.

There's a grin on his face when he sits down beside her. Leaning close to her, he says, "Out for the night."

"Oh, really?" she drawls. "And who would have tipped him off?"

Laughing softly, Chuck tilts his head and brushes his lips over hers. But before she can give herself over to the kiss, her cell phone goes off, the tinkling sounds of the ring tone audible from her purse sitting on the floor. Chuck's iPhone, lying on the dining room table, goes off at the same time. She digs her phone from her purse to look at the screen.

It's Casey.

She glances up at Chuck with a frown.

"Shaw," he says, answering her unasked question.

Sarah stands up with a heavy sigh, grasps his hand, and says, "Duty calls."

**Till now I always got by on my own  
I never really cared until I met you  
And now it chills me to the bone  
How do I get you alone?  
How do I get you alone?  
How do I get you alone?  
How do I get you alone?**

Alone

**Alone**

"Great job tonight, team," Shaw declares as they shuffle exhaustedly down the Castle stairs.

Their boss slings his duffel onto the table and slumps into a chair, holding a baggie of frozen yogurt to his mouth. In addition to the black eye Chuck gave him this morning, he's sporting a fat lip from tonight's mission.

Casey, Chuck, and Sarah claim seats around the table. The mission hadn't been difficult, but Chuck's unusually quiet. Uncharacteristically, Sarah lets her mind drift to where she and Chuck would be right now if this mission _hadn't_ come up, and Casey probably just doesn't feel like talking.

"I mean it, guys," Shaw continues when he gets no response. "Especially you, Chuck. I've never seen the Intersect work so efficiently."

Chuck, who's lounging back in his chair and looking up at the ceiling, finally looks at Shaw. "Oh, thanks. Yeah, I guess something just clicked. Finally, right?" he laughs.

Casey grunts, a hint of a smirk on his face.

Shaw shoots Sarah a meaningful look. "Yeah," he says to Chuck, his eyes still on Sarah, "something must have clicked." Smiling, he looks around and says, "All right, crew, I'm tired and need some sleep. So get outta here. Go get some rest."

Back at his apartment, she and Chuck crawl in through the window and slide into his bed. She hasn't slept beside him since the motel in Barstow, but being next to him feels so natural that she doesn't question it, doesn't have to.

Chuck, an arm around her waist, pulls her against him and buries his face in her neck. "This is going to be hard, isn't it?" he murmurs. "I mean, beings spies, being together . . . it's not exactly going to be a piece of cake."

"No," she answers with a frown, "but being here, with you, makes me think it's going to be worth it."

She means it, because two years ago, she never would have believed this was possible. She never would have entertained the notion of a real life, a real relationship. She was married to her job, and that was enough. It took Chuck walking into her life to realize everything she was missing out on.

She flips around to face him and tangles her fingers into his hair.

He smiles. "Yeah, me, too."

And when he brushes his lips against hers, she can't help but feel that every single second has been worth it. Because after twenty-nine years, she no longer feels so alone.


	39. I Have Loved You Wrong

Song: "I Have Loved You Wrong," The Swell Season

A/N: This chapter's a whole lot different than a usual _Collide_ chapter, but I'm pretty proud of it, and I hope you like it as well!

First of all, I owe a tremendous thank-you to **BillAtWork**, who, in addition to beta-ing this chapter, has probably proofed at least twenty, twenty-five of these chapters since this beastly story began. :P

Second, _Collide_ is two! That is scary and kind of sad, but also kind of awesome, haha. And thanks to everyone who's ever reviewed, because your support, interest, and even criticisms (lol) have helped to keep this going for so long. For those out there who have suggested a song, I promise I haven't forgotten you. (And I'm still open to suggestions for anyone who has one.)

Last thing before I shut up and let you get to the story! Since this story has lasted so long, mostly thanks to its format, I feel like I owe you a game-plan for where it's going. Now, although I have yet to figure out what I'm going to do with my future, haha, I would feel awful if I left this hanging for one reason or another. However, I have the rest of the semester, the summer, and maybe even fall before my actual life starts, so I'm pretty sure I can wrangle fifty chapters out of this. How would that suit? The end result would be a grand total of fifty chapters, plus one bonus chapter. Of course, I'd always be open for round two. ;)

* * *

**Forgive me, lover  
For I have sinned  
For I have done you wrong**

He loves her quickly.

From the moment she walks into the Buy More and strolls up to the Nerd Herd desk, he has a hard time keeping his eyes off her. He doesn't understand it, doesn't get why a woman like her would be interested in a guy like him, and he's afraid to pursue that for fear of getting his heart torn to bits.

But there's something in her eyes that tells him she's different, so when she comes back the next day asking not-so-subtly why he hasn't called, he has no excuse.

Even during that first date – that first date that turns out to be not so much a date as a mission – he feels himself falling fast and hard.

It's not just the fact that his last girlfriend trampled on his heart, that he hasn't been on a real date in over a year, that he'd be insane not to take notice when a beautiful woman is suddenly interested in him.

It's the fact that, when she's around, he wants to be more than he is. For the last five years, he's been content to sit around and waste his potential at the Buy More, but somehow, without even trying, she makes him see that he's so much more than that. Jill had made him feel like a loser. She had broken his heart and broken his confidence.

But Sarah . . .

With just the flash of a smile, Sarah makes him feel like he's on top of the world. And he's pretty sure he'll do anything to earn that feeling.

Even after he finds out who she really is, that she'd been working with Bryce and that now there's a supercomputer inside his brain, he's still fascinated by her. She's dangerous, mysterious, passionate, and like nothing he's ever seen before. He wants nothing more than to spend every waking moment with her discovering the secrets she hugs to her chest. She's a closed book, locked up tight with no key in sight, and he wants nothing more than to be the one she opens up to.

He loves her before he realizes it, before he can stop himself. But once he goes down that path, he doesn't ever want to come back.

**For I have hurt  
Beyond repair  
When tears occurred  
No, I didn't care**

He loves her deeply, passionately.

She refuses to admit that there's anything beneath their professional cover, so he tries to push down the feelings he knows are there. He even tries dating a 'normal' girl, because this won't be his life forever, right?

But he can't stop thinking about her, and when he thinks they're about to die, he refuses to save himself and leave her to die alone.

He isn't the one who initiates the kiss, but he throws himself into it with all he has. After all, if they're going to die in three seconds, he might as well show her how he feels. It's rough and deep and nothing like he expected their first kiss to be like, but it somehow fits her exactly. There's a hidden passion to her, one running deep under the surface. And once she lets loose, there's no holding back the flood.

**Forgive me, lover  
For I have sinned  
For I have done you wrong**

He loves her selfishly.

Mistakenly, he thinks the only worthwhile kind of love is that which is requited. He doesn't yet understand that love in itself is precious, something to be cherished.

He demands too much of her, pushes her too far, and she's close to breaking. He's lived so long in his own world, where the rules of affection are open and clear, that it's hard for him to imagine what it's like for her.

And so he pushes, without thinking of the consequences.

He asks for time, he asks for proof, for reassurance.

He asks for something real, and that's exactly what she can't give him right now.

She rages when he finds out her real name. He's stepping on her toes, prying into the cracks and peering into her secrets, and he has no sense of when to stop. He uses the Intersect, that fortuitous flash, as an excuse for making dinner plans and learning more about her high school years.

He wants to know if she's a Jenny with a 'y,' a Jennie with an 'ie,' if she was a cheerleader, if she was a band geek, if she was a drama dork, or a math whiz, or _anything_. He just wants to know something real about her, wants to take heart in the fact that she was a normal high school kid just like he was.

But she shoots him down at every turn. He's always known she has a temper, but he nearly jumps out of his skin when she grabs the pencil from his hand and launches it across the room, shattering the glass in a framed photo of them.

He gulps.

There's only so far one can push a deadly spy before she snaps, and it looks like he may have reached that point.

**But this estranged organ in my chest  
Still beats for you  
It will not rest, so  
Meet me in our secret place  
When the time has come**

He loves her regretfully.

Jill shows up in his life again, and, idiotically, he thinks he's been given a second chance. He's always regretted his last semester at Stanford, always hated the way his life split into two that fateful day, and he uses his ex-girlfriend's reappearance to try to bring his life back onto that path he had originally envisioned. It's so easy to revert to his old ways, trusting in Jill, pretending he's normal.

She brings out the worst in him. He's twenty years old again, the guy who's more preoccupied with the brunette blinding his vision than concerned about what his friends say or think, or who he's hurting. He doesn't notice the grim expressions that cross Sarah's face when he mentions Jill, doesn't pay attention to the way she reaches for his arm on a mission, a silent plea for him to stay close, to stay safe.

He doesn't see that he breaks her heart.

**And rest your head  
In my lap  
And I'll lead you out of your own trap  
And I'll show you how much  
You have missed through the  
Time we weren't right**

He loves her effortlessly.

She's slipped under his skin, gotten such a hold on his heart that she's practically become his conscience. He lives for her without even thinking about it. His decisions come back to her, and he stops taking unnecessary risks because he knows what will happen if he ever lets her down. Every breath he takes goes back to her; his lungs fill with her even when she's not around.

Even the little things he does are about her. A warm smile here, an unexpected touch there, the little signs that show what he feels.

She consumes his thoughts, but the invasion isn't unwelcome. If his life is going to revolve around one thing, there's no better choice than Sarah Walker. He can imagine his day beginning, the sun rising, when she wakes up; can see how everything around them naturally gravitates to her grace.

Even when they're angry at each other, and can't seem to find common ground, they always find a way back to each other eventually. He can be furious with her, over a stupid argument that neither of them remembers who started anyways, and all his anger dissolves when she just smiles.

She doesn't even have to say anything. She can simply sit down beside him on the couch, take his hand, and everything shifts into place.

**So forgive me, lover  
For I have sinned  
For I have let you go**

He loves her unconditionally now, because he can't imagine a life without her next to him.

He understands her, maybe not completely, but he understands more than he did at the beginning of their relationship. He understands the sacrifices she's made, the secrets she's had to keep, the choices she's been forced into. But through it all, they've somehow managed to make it this far.

And sometimes he can't believe how far they've come.

He raps on the door of her hotel room, late one night, knocks in a pattern so she'll know it's him. Dressed in only a tee and boy shorts and that smile, she lets him inside.

"I'm just getting ready for bed," she says as she retreats into the bathroom.

Scrambling onto the bed, he collapses against the pillows with a sigh and a smile. "Does that mean I can stay?"

"Nice try," she shouts from the other room through a mouthful of toothpaste. A moment later, she reappears and drapes herself on top of him. "Shaw might find out," she explains softly. "Soon, though, I promise."

Leaning down, she gently captures his lips.

"Mmm," he murmurs, "you taste good."

"You see," she teases, "there's this thing called 'hygiene' that some people pay attention to."

"Hey," he protests mildly.

Sarah laughs, burying her head into the crook of his neck, and he loves the sound of her voice as it rushes over him. But, as right as it feels to hold her, he can't help thinking about the people they might be hurting.

"Hey," she murmurs, seeming to know his thoughts, "is this about Hannah?"

He slides his fingers up and down her back, feeling the gentle rise of her spine. "It's just . . . what if she's innocent?"

She sighs. "We've been over this. It's a necessary risk." When he doesn't reply, she threads their fingers together and places a light kiss on his jaw. "I'm sorry, Chuck. I know this must be tough for you."

He kisses her forehead and assures her, "No, no tougher than the past two-and-a-half years have been."

She lifts herself up to kiss him deeply. "It'll get better soon. I promise."

"I know," he whispers, threading his fingers into her long blonde hair. "Because I trust in you."

"I know," she smiles, "and that's why I love you."

**But You've been every now and then on my mind, yeah  
Every now and then on my mind, yeah  
Every now and then on my mind, yeah**

He loves her legally.

The ceremony is on-the-run, and under false names, but what really matters is the ring on his finger and the smile in his heart. Besides, he's learned that there are things more important than which name is on which piece of paper.

His only regret is not being able to tell Ellie right away, but Sarah's adamant that they can't tell _anyone _just yet. He understands that, even rejects the itch as they fly over the Atlantic to pick up the phone and call someone – Ellie, Awesome, Morgan – to share his enthusiasm.

And when they make it to land, as he chases her through the train that winds its way through the Polish countryside, he decides that he's okay with the secrecy for now. Their fellow passengers smile indulgently, assuming them to be the newlyweds they in fact are (which, he won't lie, still blows his mind when he stops to think about it).

Laughing delightedly, she pulls him into their suite, where they collapse onto the bed with a most unromantic _thud_, and she drags him down for a deep, lingering kiss.

Still smiling as they break apart, he chuckles, "They're going to kill us, aren't they?"

"Who?" she asks softly.

"Let's see . . . Ellie, Beckman, Casey, Morgan, Shaw . . ."

"Probably," she answers with a laugh, massaging the back of his neck. "But we don't have to worry about that until we get home."

Chuck leans down to press a kiss to her lips. "Yeah, right now, it's just us."

After two-and-a-half years, he's finally figured out what she needs. He's a man who loves a woman with all his heart, asking nothing in return.

And she gives her heart right back.

**On my mind  
On my mind . . .**


	40. Quitter

Song: "Quitter," by Carrie Underwood.

A/N: First, thanks to **BillatWork **for the beta.

Erm, I'm going to count this as a very belated birthday fic for **SLWF**! Lol, because she requested a (different) CU song. I just think this is the best I can do with my time schedule, so I hope it suits! :P

Okay, well, this chapter's a bit different than the _Collide _you're used to. That being said, I sincerely hope you enjoy it. Feel free to let me know what you think!

**

* * *

Here's how it goes  
Boy meets girl, girl leaves boy  
****That's all I know, all I've done  
All my life**

There's a tiny, secluded corner of her mind that will forever be occupied by a seedy motel in Barstow.

She pretends that it doesn't cross her mind every time she looks at him, pretends that, when she wakes up in her empty hotel room, she doesn't wish to be waking up in that motel bed again, if only because he was there beside her.

She pretends because she can't allow herself to think of it anymore. If she does, if she lets one single, cherished memory slip in when she's unguarded, she'll fall again. And she can't afford that.

After Prague, she shut herself down, rebuilt her walls. She'd let him in, and he'd hurt her. That's how it goes. But Sarah Walker has never been normal, and she's a quick learner, not a woman to stick around once her heart has been broken.

**'Cause throughout my history  
I've only been with jerks  
Who couldn't take it  
But you see the picket fence  
A swing on the front porch  
With us two on it**

The problem is that he's still _here_. The problem is that she can't just pick up and leave him like she's left every other trouble in her life. The problem is that he still smiles at her, day after day, and with each smile a tiny chink in the wall forms. It won't be long before her defenses come crashing down completely, and that's something she's not sure she can handle.

So instead of facing the inevitable, instead of succumbing to his easy charm, his comforting friendship, she distracts herself.

The task is easier than she thought it would be, what with Shaw right there.

Shaw is everything Chuck isn't, and yet, he's exactly like him. He's the protective partner, the adoring suitor, the hero.

True, maybe he can't make her laugh so hard that beer will shoot out of her nose the way Chuck does. Maybe he can't tell which smile means she's really happy and which smile means she's just faking it like Chuck can. Maybe he can't carry on a decent conversation that's not about work, or launch into an enthusiastic explanation about the latest novel he's read, or try to convince her to watch his favorite science fiction miniseries. But maybe a girl like her doesn't really need all that. After all, she's a con artist turned CIA operative. She can get by with a warm body to keep her company through the lonely night, can make due with the bare minimum.

She _does_ have a type, even if that type happens to be bland and tasteless, even if that type happens to be challenged by the presence of a six-foot-two computer nerd with a heart of gold and eyes that make her forget how to breathe.

She has a type for a reason. She has a type because it's simple, because it takes no work, no real, true feeling to be with that sort of man. She's cast from a mold that fits easily with his. Even as they both vie for power, for the upper hand, they're together because it's what comes easiest. There's no effort behind the time they spend together. There are no stakes bracing their interactions.

They're gliding through each other's lives, and if one of them happens to disappear tomorrow – because of a new mission, or maybe even because of being in the wrong place at the wrong second – then that's just the way life goes. You get over it, move on. You remember the good times and thank God for the bad times you've been spared. You don't grieve for what you've lost.

But real love is hard. Isn't that what her dad always used to say? It takes effort, takes faith, takes pain.

She's just so sick and tired of hurting this much.

**When I believe that nothing lasts forever  
You stay with me, keeping us together  
And make me feel like I never ever wanna give you up  
'Til now, I've always been a quitter**

"_Don't quit on us."_

It's a haunting refrain, one she hears in her dreams and through her waking hours. It makes her want to be different, normal even. There was a time when she thought she could give it all up. She'd have given up the lying, and the guns, and the adrenaline, and the aching loneliness. She'd have given it all up to stay by his side, because there was a time when she could see the two of them carving out something dangerously close to a normal life – a life with a mortgage, car payments, even college funds for the kids.

And a dog. They'd have to have a dog.

A greyhound, who'd be her running companion every morning, who'd be gentle with the kids.

But the truth is that girls like Sarah Walker don't get the picket fence, the swing on the front porch. The truth is that giving up on that future is so much easier than knowing it's always just outside of her reach. She's so used to getting what she wants, or at least what she thinks she wants, that being told 'no' is almost too much to bear. Being told she can't have something is exactly the motivation she needs to take it, but it's different in this case.

In this case, he really is off-limits.

There's nothing quite like having the welfare of an entire country shoved into your conscience to keep you from putting your personal desires above anything else.

Isn't that what her decade of training has proved? That what you want isn't important, that you have to push beyond petty desire in order to serve the greater good?

Sarah Walker, the CIA agent, has a job to do. She has a purpose in life. She can't waste her time pining for a man who screws with her priorities.

So when he pleads, she shuts her ears, shuts her eyes, shuts her heart.

**You rescued me  
Saved my life just in time  
Saw past all my issues and scars  
And made me try**

When they save Casey, rescue him from treason, things seem to turn around. Maybe they _can_ be friends after all. They're fooling Fitzroy, and they almost seem like a team again, instead of the two starkly different, uncaring people they're pretending they are.

Not a CIA team who's just together to get the job done, who doesn't know anything about each other except code names, and who breaks apart once the goal is completed.

But their old team, when she can feel where he is in the room without looking. When they know each other's moves and thoughts before they happen. When they move with perfect grace, perfect deadliness. When he jumps into her world without fear, because she is there to catch him, to guide him.

Or maybe she's simply using this guise of friendship to hide her true feelings.

Maybe he's not that guy anymore, the guy she so desperately wants to remember him as.

The guy who saved her.

As much as she tries to forget, as much as she pretends that he is not a permanent fixture in her life, she can't banish the memory of the way he'd wormed his way into her heart with just a crooked smile and those twinkling eyes and made her believe in something more than herself.

When she met him, she was spiraling.

After Bryce's seeming betrayal, she wanted nothing more than to finish the current job and get onto the next one, anything to keep her mind on work and get it off of Bryce.

Then he smiled, and she smiled back, and a tiny crack in her stone heart formed.

How was she to know that such a miniscule crack would one day shake her foundation to the core?

Reluctantly, she let him in, bit by bit, truth by tiny truth. Before Bryce, she hadn't realized how lost she'd been. Now, though, he was showing her everything she thought she'd never know, she didn't think she'd ever want. He taught her what it was to find herself, how to define herself beyond her job. And he made her want to be _more_.

She ignored it as long as she could, ignored the way his kisses burned her lips, the way his touch set a fire to her skin, the way just a look could make her pulse race. She ignored the itch on her palms each time she caught a glimpse of normal life, each time she imagined they could have such a life.

Then she woke up in a dingy motel in Barstow, and suddenly ignoring the feelings he stirred in her became impossible.

But just the memory of that morning – so vivid, so heart-achingly real – reminds her just how dangerous this all is.

Emotions can get you killed.

But love can get your heart broken.

**'Cause oh, the way you're kissing me  
Makes it hard to breathe  
But I still like it  
Oh oh, it truly feels like a dream  
You know exactly how I want it**

He's a spy now.

A real, honest-to-goodness, James Bond-type.

And she's finding it hard to rectify this new Chuck with the man she met two-and-a-half years ago, the man she fell so deeply for, the man she used to want (still wants?) to push against a wall and dare to love her.

He's changing.

Right in front of her eyes.

The proof's right there for the taking. He's lost his core; she's seen him choke a man without blinking an eye.

He promises he won't, but he is, and she can't stop it, and that scares the hell out of her, scares her more than staring down a bad guy pressing a gun to her forehead.

She's been taught to be fearless, or, if fear is unavoidable, to choke it down and use it as a weapon, as an ally. Use it to raise yourself above your opponents. Use it to prove your own worth, to prove they are nothing.

But her fear stems from love, and instead of becoming a weapon, it becomes a weakness.

Which is why she leaves.

She's in a taxi in D.C., on her way to meet a man who's paper-perfect, and she can't seem to straighten out the thoughts in her head. She's reeling, trying to figure out why exactly she's longing for a life that never actually existed when there's a perfectly adequate one just waiting for her to step into it.

Then again, maybe she shouldn't try to figure it out at all.

Maybe she'll plaster a smile on her face when he opens the door, and pretend like everything's okay.

And maybe he won't notice at all.

**I believe that nothing lasts forever  
You stay with me, keeping us together  
And make me feel like I never ever wanna give you up  
'Til now, I've always been a quitter  
I've always been a quitter**

He's there when she gets back to L.A.

He's there, sitting in her hotel room like he has a right to.

He stands up, wiping his palms on his jeans, and strolls over to wear she's frozen in the doorway.

"Please," he begins softly, "just, don't say anything? I really need to get something off my chest."

She swallows, looks away, sits down on the bed.

This is just like him, just like him to demand her silence while he explains what she doesn't want to hear.

Why won't he ever just let her _talk_?

She closes her eyes, wondering if she actually would say anything if given the chance.

She takes a deep breath, because he's kneeling in front of her now, offering her his heart.

"I know you think I'm this different person now," Chuck says, grasping her hands lightly, "and I know I probably lost my chance. I don't have any right to tell you any of this, or say anything at all, because you're happy. Are you happy? Sarah, I want you to be . . . happy."

He purses his lips, staring up at her like he wants her reassure him, to say something, anything.

But she's not happy. She's not happy unless she's with him, and when she's with him, she's miserable.

Shaking his head and sighing, he tries again. "Look, you don't want to hear any of this, Sarah, I get that. But it's for you. It's all for you. All I've ever wanted was to be good enough, and yeah, I've screwed up. And I've fooled myself into believing that I could settle for something else. But you've always been in the back of my mind, always the one pushing me to be better."

Another taut pause.

Then:

"Sarah, if I'm gonna lose you, at least let it be to someone you actually care about. Maybe he's your type, and maybe he can literally carry you on those rare occasions when you need a hero, and maybe he has the physique of Superman. But is he really gonna be there at the end of the day?

"When you come home after a mission and all you want is someone to hold you, is he gonna be that guy? Or at you gonna lie in his arms wondering why he doesn't understand you? Why you're not feeling all the things you're supposed to be feeling?"

He takes a breath; she stays silent, hating the accuracy of his words. He doesn't have a right to know so much about her.

"I'm sorry," he says, so softly she almost doesn't hear. "I'm sorry I'm not who you want me to be. But how can I know what you want if you don't tell me?"

She's barely listening to him, wanting nothing more than for him to stop talking and make this easier on both of them.

Looking down at their hands, he gently slides his thumb over her fingers. He looks up at her one last time, waiting for a response, but she has nothing to say to him. How can she tell him that everything he's told her is true? How can she admit that she's been running away from him because she's scared of what they're becoming? Of what they're losing?

The easiest choice is always the one you don't make.

Taking a deep breath and pursing his lips, he nods resignedly, stands up, and walks out the door.

And she lets him go, trying to ignore the pain in her heart as it fractures. With a swallow, she buries the tears, never to rise again.

A man is never worth your tears, someone had once told her (or had she seen it in a TV show?). Certainly the case when he leaves you, or skewers your heart, but is he worth your tears when he loses himself?

_How can I know what you want?_

Isn't that what he'd said?

She closes her eyes, silently cursing him.

She leaps up from the bed and rushes out the door, only to run straight into him in the hallway. She does a double-take, brushing her hair back with a hand. She'd expected him to be halfway back to his apartment already.

He steadies her, gazing down at her with eyes so full of hope that she finds it hard to catch her breath.

Taking a step back, she says forcefully, "You don't get it, Chuck. You don't get it at all. I don't _need_ you to be anything. I don't need to be impressed by how fast you can disarm an opponent, or the fact that you can beat a laser alarm system without any help."

She's gesticulating now, waving her hands like a fool. What's wrong with her? She never used to be like this. She's an agent; she's strong, in control.

With another deep breath, she forces her arms to her sides and continues more reasonably, "What impresses me is that you can recite the entirety of _The Wrath of Khan_ without getting tongue-tied, or that you never forget Ellie's birthday and always remember to bake her favorite cupcakes, or that you sometimes sound like you're speaking another language when you talk computers and yet you never seem to realize it. That's the kind of thing that impresses me, Chuck – you. . . . I just want you to be _you_."

She shakes her head pleadingly. "That's all I've ever wanted. So don't you dare accuse me of quitting on us. Because I'm not the one who downloaded that damn Intersect. And I'm not the one who gave up in Prague. I'm not the one who chose my own desires over the life we could have had together."

Spent, done with useless words, she sinks to the floor, her back against the wall.

Chuck is speechless, standing there gaping. Sarah buries her face in her hands. Sometimes she just wishes this would all go away, that she could wake up somewhere far away, on another mission, having never met Charles Irving Bartowski.

Sitting down beside her, he rests his arms on his knees and leans his head against the wall.

She can feel him breathing beside her, hear his gentle breaths. They sit quietly, for so long that Sarah starts to wonder whether he's going to say anything at all.

Eventually, Chuck says softly, "Do you ever think it'd be easier if we just started over?"

She picks her head up to give him a small smile. "You mean forget about all the crap we've been through over the past two-and-a-half years?"

"That's exactly what I mean," he smiles. Shifting to face her, he asks, "Why don't we go grab some drinks tonight? Nothing special, just you and me. I miss just talking to you."

"That sounds . . . nice."

"Awesome."****

When I believe that nothing lasts forever  
You stay with me, keeping us together  
And make me feel like I never ever wanna give you up  
'Til now, I've always been a quitter

Sarah takes another sip of beer and finally allows herself to relax in the booth. They're nestled in the back corner, away from the bustle of the main bar, away from the noise and the distractions. Here, the lighting and music are low, the atmosphere calm and relaxed.

_She_'s calm and relaxed.

And there's a happiness in Chuck's eyes she'd thought had gone for good.

His hair's a bit shorter now, but, dressed in dark jeans and a _Firefly_ t-shirt that hugs his chest, he looks like he did when they met, down to the lopsided smile on his face.

She leans in close to him, because she can, because she's comfortable with just the two of them, because his laugh makes her feel at home. He has an arm resting casually across the back of the booth, and, sitting secluded in the corner, she feels like they can just ignore the world.

"You know," he begins conversationally, "I was talking to Ellie the other day, and she said something that I can't get out of my head. She said, 'Sometimes dreams change.'" He shakes his head, sighs, and says, "Sarah, I used to want to save the world. . . . Now I just want you . . . I want us. Please don't tell me I've lost my chance."

She gives him a soft smile. "I'm here, aren't I?"

Grinning, he leans down to touch his lips to hers.

A tingle runs through her as he teases her lips, and she reaches up to drag a hand through his hair. Even after all this time, his kiss feels so familiar. It fills up the aching hole in her heart, the one she thought she'd never rid herself of. It sparks a fire in her heart, reminds her that she's not just made of stone.

Almost fearing the intensity of the moment, Sarah slowly pulls away and rests her forehead against his, eyes closed in contentment. Chuck ghosts his fingers over her jaw, and she takes a deep breath, stifling a sigh.

So maybe this is never going to be perfect, but isn't it still worth fighting for?

They've both made mistakes. They've both acted selfishly, said things they've regretted. But at the end of the day, he's the one she wants to come home to. He's the one she wants to share her hopes and fears with. He's the one who's going to keep her company through the long cold nights.

And like a shot, she knows instantly that he's the one who can be all those things for her. That he's going to be able to make her smile when she's in the worst of moods. That with him, her nights aren't going to be so lonely anymore. That a life with him will be much different – much more fulfilling – than any other vision of the future she'd allowed herself to entertain before.

"So," Chuck begins, "how exactly are we going to make this work?"

Sarah pulls away to look at him with a smile. "I have no idea," she confesses, laughing. Quietly, she tells him, "But we _will_ make it work, because we've got each other."

Chuck kisses her softly again. "Yeah, we've got each other."

Sarah leans into him, a gentle smile gracing her lips, and a warm, pleasant feeling suffuses her.

Sometimes the world seems like it's falling to pieces around you, and all you can do is stand back and watch. But sometimes, someone walks into your life, grabs a hold of your heart, and gives you the strength to stitch it back together again.

And that's a kind of love that Sarah's never going to give up on.****

I've always been a quitter


	41. Crash and Burn

Song: "Crash and Burn," by Savage Garden.

A/N: Whew! So, I'm finally done with school for the semester! Hopefully I can write chapters a bit more quickly. :) This one's a little different, but I hope you'll still like it.

* * *

He goes to his funeral for Sarah.

After five years of despising Bryce for what he did to him, it's hard to hate him anymore now that he's dead, but there's a woman he left behind, distraught and broken though she tries not to show it, and Chuck wants to be there for her.

Already, though their working relationship has been brief and not entirely smooth, he can tell the kind of woman she is – stoic, personal, internalizing. She's his polar opposite, the yin to his yang (the yang to his yin? since their roles seem to be reversed). Where he is loquacious, she is silent. Where he is open, she is shut. Where he is trusting, she is wounded.

But he's learning those things.

He's learning that she has secrets, things she'd rather keep hidden for one reason or another. Maybe it's her job. Maybe it's something in her past. Maybe it's just the way she is. And he's learning that beyond those secrets are scars she pretends don't exist.

One day, he'll figure her out. He'll be patient and uncover those scars one by one, listen to the stories behind them and reassure her that no one will hurt her like that again.

But now, after knowing her for eight days, after going on two-and-a-half "dates," all he knows about her he can count on one hand:

"Sarah Walker" isn't her real name.

She will never betray her country.

She's not funny (or, at least, doesn't think she is), and she doesn't know anything about music.

And she's quick to anger, an anger which she can channel into a devastating energy.

She's mad at him right now, her eyes narrowed even as she watches them lower the casket into the ground. And she has every right to be. He's still finding his footing in the spy life, still struggling to find his place in a world he knows nothing about. So used to being an expert at what he does, even if that happens to be working at the local electronics chain store and fixing computers, he can't quite get used to what it's like to rely so completely on another for his survival.

Sure, Ellie's taken care of him a lot. But the two of them have been on their own for a decade now, and he's learned to take care of himself.

Now, though, Sarah's the one taking care of him. Each punch she throws, each shot she fires is for his protection. And he needs that. Without her, he wouldn't stand one minute against the threats they face. Without her, he won't survive.

But he looks at her, tears pooling in her eyes as she refuses to cry for her ex-partner, and wonders if maybe she needs him too, if maybe he can fill the hole in her heart he's certain is there.

Which is why, after the funeral ends, after the madness from the past few days has faded, he goes to the Weinerlicious when Ellie convinces him to apologize. Of course, he brings along his crazy family, which makes him nervous, but Sarah's smiling, and that's all that matters to him.

Grins on their faces, they eat charred corndogs, and Sarah slips her hand over his. He looks up to meet her pale blue eyes (they remind him so much of the beautiful elves in _Lord of the Rings_, but he'll never tell _her_ that) with his own brown ones and finds a smile on her face, a smile he's starting to recognize as her genuine one.

And he thinks, maybe, just maybe, this is something he can give her.

Friendship.

**When you feel all alone  
And the world has turned its back on you  
Give me a moment please to tame your wild, wild heart  
I know you feel like the walls are closing in on you  
It's hard to find relief and people can be so cold  
When darkness is upon your door and you feel like you can't take anymore**

He shifts the pizza box to one arm and raps on the door to Sarah's hotel room, wondering if there will ever come a day when Bryce stops complicating his life. Hell, the guy's dead and he continues to make his presence known.

But, as Chuck lets out a sigh, he knows this particular screw-up isn't really Bryce's fault – even if Bryce was the guy who got to know her, who got to see her little quirks and dislikes and unconscious habits.

It's not Bryce's fault that he got there first.

Chuck's just too emotional for a spy, and he can't let his burgeoning feelings for Sarah ruin the mission.

A smile comes to his lips when she opens the door, leans her head against the frame, and quirks a tiny smile at him.

"Hey," he murmurs. Lifting the pizza lid, he says, "Vegetarian, no olives. It's the only thing I know about you that's true – you don't like olives."

"Thank you," she replies as she takes a step back. "Come in."

He's learning to hear what she wants to say in the few words she allows herself to say, and in that 'thank you,' he hears so much – relief, gratefulness, affection. Maybe if he were more comfortable with her, more assured of her friendship, he would let it go. They would split the pizza, drink some beer, watch the Lakers game, talk about nothing.

Be friends.

But he's always had the bad habit of shooting himself in the foot when he's already ahead in the race. He's not the kind to bottle up feelings, not the kind to offer _just_ an I'm-sorry pizza. He needs to explain.

"Thank you," he says, following her into the room. "Look, I'm sorry about the beach. You're absolutely right – I shouldn't let my feelings affect the mission." He sets the pizza down and walks over to where she's already taken a seat on the bed. Sitting down in front of her, he continues "And, uh, if you and Bryce, if you had a thing, that makes sense. He always got the great girls."

He sighs, because she's looking at him with a sad smile on her face, and he wonders if she's thinking about Bryce. But the thing is he's starting to fall for a girl he knows nothing about, for a girl who maybe knows everything about him.

"I just wish I knew something real about you," Chuck pleads. "Can't you just tell me one true thing?Just one. Like, like, where'd you grow up?"

Sarah stays quiet, just looking at him, and he realizes how much she can say with just her eyes. If only he knew how to read her . . .

Frowning, he tries desperately, "Or, if that's too much, I get it, I get it. If that's too much, what's your name? What's your real name?"

Nothing.

And maybe he's a little demanding, a little overbearing (after all, it's so soon in their I-wish-this-were-real relationship), but he wants to know _something_ about her. Just one tiny thing he can call to mind when she leaves and leaves him empty.

"Middle name," he beseeches. "What's your middle name? Can't you just tell me your middle name?"

She hasn't said a word through all this, but there are tears shimmering in her eyes, and his voice is starting to crack. As tenacious as he can sometimes be, he knows when to admit defeat.

He lets out a deep breath and lightly slaps his knees. "I'm gonna . . . go get the napkins."

And he rises and crosses the room, busies himself with gathering the napkins and putting a couple slices on a paper plate for Sarah. His shoulders tense, and it could be his imagination (he wants so badly just to believe), but he thinks he hears . . .

_Lisa_.

**Let me be the one you call  
If you jump, I'll break your fall  
Lift you up and fly away with you into the night  
If you need to fall apart  
I can mend a broken heart  
If you need to crash, then crash and burn  
You're not alone**

Chuck Bartowski had hated high school. The only things that got him through were the persistent optimism of his older sister and the constant, jovial companionship of his best friend. Growing up as a curly-headed nerd who would rather talk about the latest _Quantum Leap_ episode than talk to a _girl_, especially a pretty one, he was very used to the teasing. That didn't bother him much, as long as he had a few video games to come home to so he could get his mind off things.

What bothered him – what still haunts him – is the morning his dad left. He was seventeen years old, he felt like a boat that had lost its rudder, and his sister never did get those pancakes she'd been promised, because he'd been too distraught to do anything beyond watch the entire _Back to the Future_ trilogy and drown in grape soda.

Then Ellie had taken him to the bookstore the next day, had bought him _Gun, With Occasional Music_ so he could distract himself and not talk if he didn't feel like it. They had gotten Chinese takeout, and he'd known that, somehow, they were stronger than this.

So, after piecing together the few clues he's gotten, he can only imagine how much worse the high school experience had been for Sarah.

Right now, he can tell she's drowning in memories. The only thing he can't tell is whether those memories are pleasant or not. The reunion had been . . . interesting, to say the least, and her fight with Heather Chandler has left her with a nasty black eye and a slightly bruised ego.

It's not as if he's helped at all.

The past few days, he's been inconsiderate and selfish. He's pushed her, asked for what she's not ready to give.

Tonight, though, he can make up for all that. He can offer her a raw burger for her black eye; he can offer a quiet shoulder if she simply wants to rant.

But Sarah has never been one for words, and right now, it looks as if she's lost in a world of her own.

"Sarah," he calls in a singsong voice, waving a hand in front of her distant gaze. "Sarah Walker?"

With a deep breath, she snaps out of her reverie. "Okay. Fine," she says, a slight smile on her lips. "I'll answer _one_ question about my past. You've earned that much."

Chuck pauses, casting his gaze around the room as he contemplates. Two days ago he would have given anything for a chance like this, but going to the reunion with her, seeing all the struggles she's overcome, has made him look at things differently.

"No, thanks," he smiles. "I don't need to know more, not about who you were." She regards him quizzically, and he explains, "'Cause as much as you don't think so, I know who you _are_."

The happiness in her smile overcomes the uncertainty in her eyes. She tilts her head a bit in a silent query.

Grinning, Chuck says, "A girl I'd like to share a cheeseburger with."

As Sarah laughs, he realizes something.

She's not like other women, and he can't hold her to his regular standards. Maybe he's never going to know everything about her past, but he doesn't need to. All he needs to know is that she'll always be there when he needs her.

The least he can do is be there for her.

**When you feel all alone  
And a loyal friend is hard to find  
You're caught in a one way street  
With the monsters in your head  
When hopes and dreams are far away and  
You feel like you can't face the day**

He knocks on the door, balancing the croissant bag and coffee in one hand.

Sarah opens the door, looking delightfully cute in a blue sweatshirt with her hair pulled up in a messy bun.

He smiles. "Hey. They were all out of fruit, so I was forced to bring up a couple chocolate croissants."

"Oh," she intones charmingly, plucking the bag out of his hand. "I guess I have no choice but the take those off of you. Come in."

She pushes the door open so he can follow her inside, and she's already plopping down cross-legged on the bed and diving into the bag by the time he walks inside.

"You okay?" he asks as he takes a seat beside her and sets the coffee on the bedside table.

Especially with his own experience with patriarchal figures, he can't imagine what it's like for her, losing faith in her father after so long.

She sighs. "I'm fine. My dad will turn up somewhere. But uh, I guess the real crime is that we didn't get to freeze the sheik's accounts."

She tears off a piece of croissant and pops it into her mouth, a frown darkening her brow.

She doesn't say it, but Chuck knows he's partly responsible. He was the one who followed her that night, he was the one who pushed her into getting involved with Jack.

"Well, I'm sorry if I pushed you into trusting your father," he grimaces.

She shakes him off and pops another piece of pastry into her mouth. "If there's one thing I learned from my father, it's be ready for disappointment, and if it's anyone's fault, it's mine."

She gives him a chagrined look and averts her eyes.

He and Sarah may not often discuss personal matters, but when they do, she never fails to tug at his heart.

Chuck shakes his head. "No, it's not."

Sarah looks back at him, surprised.

He sighs, his brow furrowing as he chooses his words. "Eleven years ago, my father left Ellie and me. He's uh . . . He was an unusual man. I guess that's generous. An engineer. We used to get Christmas cards, birthday calls, and then one year, it just, it just stopped. I don't know why. What I do know is that it wasn't my fault. Granted, it took a significant amount of time and . . . an incredible amount of therapy to come to that realization, but . . . You need to know that your father's sins are his, and not yours."

There's a short, taut pause, during which he thinks he's overstepped his bounds.

But then she smiles and says, "That's pretty eloquent for nine A.M."

"What can I say?" he retorts with the beginnings of a smirk. "_I_ am an articulate schnook."

"Lucky for me," she laughs, and they slide back to sit against the bed frame.

He rests his head back and lets out a breath, feeling as if something shifts back into place. He's always the one asking for help, for guidance, but if he can ease her conscience every once in a while, then he'll jump at that chance.

**Let me be the one you call  
If you jump, I'll break your fall  
Lift you up and fly away with you into the night  
If you need to fall apart  
I can mend a broken heart  
If you need to crash, then crash and burn  
You're not alone**

After all the ridiculous and unbelievable things they've been through, he probably shouldn't be surprised that they're spending Christmas Eve trapped in the Buy More, held hostage by a nervous little guy who bears a remarkable resemblance to one of the aliens in _Galaxy Quest_.

But, for once, this has nothing to do with his secret life as a spy. And, for once, he's starting to question whether he'll get through this at all. Sure, Sarah and Casey are the best. But are they any match for a deranged gunman? Even if they can save _him_ (which is undoubtedly their priority), will they be able to save all the people who rely on him? All the people he loves, or at least cares about? Jeff and Lester may be creepy, but they don't deserve to die as hostages in an electronics store hold-up.

Chuck frowns as he paces, watching everyone on the phone as they call their family and friends. Ned's given them some time, but Chuck wouldn't even know what to say if he had anyone to call.

_I've been taken hostage and I _might_ die, so I love you_?

Are they going to die? Or will this drag out long enough that it'll come to a stalemate that's only broken by a host of Kevlar-clad policemen bursting through the doors?

Chuck sighs as he turns into the DVD section, and that's when he sees her.

He's fiddling with a small velvet bag in his pocket, but his fingers cease their fidgeting when he catches sight of her. She's over by the appliances, the only one without a cell phone to her ear. Chuck's heart nearly shatters at the forlorn look on her face.

Without another thought, he takes his phone from his pocket and hits the first number on speed dial. He ducks down into the aisle as she answers.

"Hi, Chuck," she says, and he can hear the smile in her voice (his heart skips a beat when he comprehends that he's simply made her smile in the middle of this mess). "Where are you?"

"DVDs." His eyes flick up toward the aisle sign. "I'm in the romantic comedy section, although for irony's sake, I suppose I should probably be in hostage thrillers."

She doesn't respond, but a few seconds later, she appears around the corner. He grins as she walks toward him and kneels down in front of him. She's in her Double O uniform, her hair a bit disheveled from the day's events, but he finds himself comforted simply by the sight of her. She's gorgeous no matter what she wears, whether it's a CIA-procured ball gown or a borrowed t-shirt, but he likes this uniform. He likes that the powder blue of the sweatshirt sets off her eyes. He likes that, of all the things they could have chosen, the CIA chose to make the uniform shoes Converses. Now, whenever they spend a night in together for a cover date, he likes the way her orange Chuck Taylors line up beside his trusty black ones in the corner beside the front door.

"So, uh," she begins quietly, "Ned let everyone call their loved ones. That was pretty smart to call me, protect our cover."

He hates that, even after a year-and-a-half, they continue to do this, continue to use the cover as an excuse. He doesn't miss the spark in her eyes, doesn't miss the way she quickly retreats to take shelter behind 'the cover.'

But that battle is one for another day.

Right now, they're in a situation neither quite knows how to deal with (something entirely new to both of them), and he just wants to say what he needs to say before the chance gets taken away.

"Yeah, well, you are my girlfriend. Sort of," he adds as a quick amendment, lest she detect the affection in his tone and take off running.

Sarah nods, letting that sink in for a moment before tentatively asking, "So does that mean your offer still stands for Christmas?"

His smile widens. "See, I knew you could be heart-warmed."

Her light laughter mingles with his own, and Chuck realizes it's the first time he's heard her laugh in a while.

He's missed it.

He wants to be the guy who makes her laugh all the time. He wants to be the guy in these situations, when the outcome seems beyond hope, who lightens her mind and gives her something to smile about. He wants to be _her_ guy.

"Actually, um," he says nervously, reaching into his pocket for the jewelry bag he's been carrying around for two days now, "I have something for you. I was gonna give it to you tomorrow, but considering the circumstances, I kind of want to give it to you today."

Sarah hates when he talks like this, he knows, and he can see it on her face. As much as he wants to be her guy, she wants to be the girl who saves the day for him.

"Chuck," she frowns, "we're gonna get out of here. We'll be fine. I-"

He takes the bracelet out of the black velvet bag, holds it up so the charms dance in the harsh light of the store.

"-promise . . ." she trails off. "Wow, it's . . . beautiful," she murmurs, mesmerized.

"It's good luck," he explains softly. "It was my mom's charm bracelet. My dad gave it to her when Ellie was born."

Sarah immediately shakes her head in protest, and Chuck almost wants to laugh (because she's always been that girl who doesn't realize just how much she deserves).

"Oh, Chuck, I can't take this. This is something real, something you should give to a real girlfriend."

She's right.

But she's wrong about their relationship. She'd once called them 'a real couple, just a different sort of a couple.' And that's exactly what they are. For once, he doesn't care whether he knows every little detail about her past, or whether she shares secrets with him when they curl up together at night, or whether they call each other in the middle of the day just because they missed the sound of each other's voice.

He cares about the smile she gives him after a mission, when they're exhausted and in bad moods but she can still find a modicum of comfort in him. He cares about the way she says more with one look, one touch than she ever could with a thousand words. He cares about the fact that, after all is said and done, after all the mistakes they've made, she's the one he wants by his side.

Even if they're trying desperately to scrape something real out of what they've been dealt.

"I know," he tells her.

She looks like she's about to say something, protest again maybe, but she can't take her eyes off the bracelet.

"Chuck!"

Chuck grimaces when he hears Ned. He wishes they could find a corner of the store and hide out, tell each other stories and forget about the gunman in the middle of the store. But . . .

"Duty calls . . ." he sighs, standing up reluctantly.

He can only hope she's right. They're going to get out of this. They're going to get out of this so she can spend Christmas with him and his family, a real Christmas. He can do that for her at least.

**Because there has always been heartache and pain  
And when it's over, you'll breathe again  
You'll breath again**

A slight smile on his face, Chuck shakes his head as he watches Lester and Jeff in the center of the store blasting "Africa," Lester's eyes growing wide as he dives into the song. A crowd's already gathered, and Jesse's even wearing a Jeffster shirt in support of his coworkers.

Sarah's beside him, not saying a word, but after the fight they've been having, just being next to her feels good. This is . . . comfortable.

He sometimes thinks they're at their best when nothing is being said, when he can just stand beside her and share a laugh as his coworkers butcher an '80s classic.

"I wanted to apologize," she begins, raising her voice above the music, and he tears his attention away from Jeffster's performance to look at her curiously. Almost nervously, she clarifies, "I could have been more sensitive before about your friendship with Morgan. It's just – it's difficult. I don't really have anyone in my life like that who . . . cares about me."

The way she says it grabs at Chuck's heart.

She's standing before him, her face cut up from her fight with Smooth Lau, baring her insecurities, and he'd be an idiot to let her keep believing she's got no one.

Because she's got _him_, always.

Sarah turns away, like she always does after a confession.

Turning toward her, he says quietly, "Yeah you do."

She smiles at him then, the smile bright but not quite reaching to her eyes. And the way she grasps his fingers when he slips his hand into hers tells him why.

She clings to him, sadness lingering in her eyes, because she's never been this close to anyone. She can't be. And he's left to wonder whether he's doing her any good by caring for her this much. She's so used to taking care of herself, to fending off loneliness by building walls around her heart.

Ever since Bryce's unexpected visit in the fall, he's been thinking about his effect on Sarah. She's the best the CIA's got. What if him just being around has weakened her?

But then she gives his hand a squeeze, and he realizes that, as much as he needs her, she needs him step-for-step. 

**When you feel all alone  
And the world has turned its back on you  
Give me a moment please  
To tame your wild, wild heart**

Chuck smiles as Devon claps him on the shoulder and leaves the frozen yogurt shop. He has to admit, having his brother-in-law in on his spy secret is a weight off his shoulders, though he does wish he could tell Ellie as well.

As Devon heads out the door, Sarah strolls up to him.

"He'd make an awesome spy," she remarks.

"Yeah," Chuck agrees. "Yeah, I guess it runs in the family."

They smile at each other, a little hesitantly, letting the moment linger between them.

He clears his throat and breaks the silence, "Uh, listen, I've been meaning to ask. What do you think our cover should be? You know, moving forward . . ."

Sarah takes a breath like she does when she needs time to think. "Well, I think we should keep it simple, so . . . how 'bout friends?"

"Friends, huh?" he queries, and she nods. "Yeah, that could work." He tilts his head and teases, "I suppose I could fake being friends with someone like you."

"And I don't find you completely repulsive, so . . ."

"Thanks," laughs Chuck.

"So, yeah, friends?"

"Yeah, yeah, friends."

It's one of the circular conversations they've been having all too often lately, and they cut it off by shaking hands. He's missed her touch, even if it's just the touch of her hand, and he lets the handshake linger a bit too long, their gazes unwavering.

After a moment, Sarah asks, "So, what exactly do friends do?"

"What do friends do? Uhh, Friday night?" He rolls his eyes to the ceiling as he thinks. "Friday night, Morgan and I would normally gorge ourselves on processed food, play some video games."

She laughs, looking slightly horrified at the thought of nacho cheese, cheese puffs, and every other food containing fake cheese. "Maybe we're not quite there yet."

"Okay," he smiles, "we can work on some other options."

And they do.

Because it's Sarah, Morgan understands when he changes plans on him at the last minute. Instead of staying in and playing _Call of Duty_ into the wee hours, they find a late-night restaurant and just hang out. Devon's working a late shift, but Ellie comes along, and the four of them crowd into a booth. Sarah squeezes against him, a smile on her face, and he remembers how nice it feels to just be close to her.

They've been so estranged over the past seven months that he's afraid to screw this up.

But she lets him pick a beer for her, nods approvingly as she swallows her first sip, and he starts to think that maybe this is going to be okay.

Maybe _they_'re going to be okay.

And, in the middle of one of Morgan's crazy stories about the store, Sarah looks up at him, a soft smile gracing her lips. Her hand, lazily holding her beer bottle, brushes against his, their pinkies skimming against one another.

A shiver goes through him, a glimmer of hope and fear, but she doesn't take her hand away. She doesn't take her gaze away. There's a look behind her eyes that tells him just how much she's enjoying this, just how much she needed a night away from all the chaos.

When it comes to Sarah Walker needing a friend, he's her guy.

**Let me be the one you call  
If you jump, I'll break your fall  
Lift you up and fly away with you into the night  
If you need to fall apart  
I can mend a broken heart  
If you need to crash, then crash and burn  
You're not alone**

Chuck finishes typing a quick e-mail to his sister to explain his unexpected trip to Paris and looks up just as Sarah stirs out of her drugged slumber.

"Hey," he says, getting up and walking over to the bed. He set his laptop on the gold bedspread and offers her a wary smile. "How're you feeling?"

She sits up a bit, blinking blearily. "What happened?" she asks, still groggy.

Chuck frowns and lets the question hang. They've been on this tangled road, each trying to come to terms with his new Intersect abilities but looking in different directions. She's made her views about his burgeoning spy career perfectly clear. What if his confession is the last excuse she needs to take off and run?

But she's waiting, a lost look behind those eyes, and he has to say something. She deserves an explanation, even if it's the one she doesn't want to hear.

"Everything's okay now," he says shakily.

She blinks the sleep out of her eyes, looks up at him, and asks slowly, "What about Shaw?"

He lets out a breath. "He's dead." Shock comes over Sarah's face, and he quickly adds, "I'm sorry."

For what? He's not sorry for killing the man who nearly killed _her_. He'll never be sorry about saving her. But, after all, she'd cared about him in her own way. She'd seen something in him that none of them had seen – a brokenness, maybe, the same brokenness that haunts her.

Maybe he's sorry for taking that connection away.

But mostly he's sorry for becoming the man she never wanted him to become.

"Oh, my God," Sarah says, pushing herself up by her hands. Slowly, her words coming out stunted, she reaches into her memory for some understanding of what happened last night. "We, there was um, there was a café, and a bridge, and he tried to kill me, and . . ."

She looks at him, realization dawning.

"Oh, my God," she says again. "You shot him."

It's not the accusation he expects. It's a statement. But it still scares him to death that she can say it so calmly.

"I couldn't let him hurt you, Sarah," he tells her desperately. "Trust me, I did what I had to do. But I'm still the same guy. I'm still Chuck. I promise."

There's a moment, right before her eyes meet his, that he's convinced she's going to bolt, convinced that he's saved her life but destroyed any chance they had.

And then she smiles, and it's the most beautiful sight he's ever seen.

She smiles and, her voice full of wonder, says, "You saved me."

Before he can explain, before he can even reply, she leans forward and captures his lips. His heart fills and spills over with something close to euphoria, and he doesn't want to open his eyes for fear that this is all a dream. But her lips against his, her hand on his neck, bring him back to reality.

A sweet, amazing reality.

He pulls back to grin at her, to search her gaze and make sure this is what she wants. She's spent the past few months running away from him and the man she thought he was, so it's a little disconcerting for her to jump so enthusiastically back into his arms.

But he can see the relief in her eyes and feel it in her kiss.

Maybe she hadn't been running from him after all.

The laptop beside them beeps, interrupting his thoughts.

Beckman, appearing on the screen, says, "Chuck, Sarah, excellent work. I've consulted with Colonel Casey, and he brought me up to speed. I'll expect a full report when you get back to Burbank."

Burbank. He can't even think about Burbank while he's in Paris, in a hotel with a view of the Eiffel Tower, with the girl who makes his dreams pale every time he looks at her.

"Actually, General, uh," Chuck says, "I think we're gonna need a few more days in Paris."

"No," the redhead replies curtly, "I want you back ASAP. We have a new mission. Last night a team of Peruvian assassins broke into –"

As she's talking, Chuck looks back at Sarah. She's smiling mischievously, and, when he tilts his head toward the computer, she takes the encouragement and turns the screen around.

"Agent Bartowski? Agent Walker!" Beckman barks on the other end. "I've lost contact. Get them back."

Chuck grins, amazed that she'd stand up to her boss like that.

Amazed and so, so happy.

"I don't know –" he begins, but Sarah cuts him off blissfully.

"Shut up and kiss me."

He doesn't need to be told twice.


	42. Terrified

Song: "Terrified," by Katharine McPhee, ft. (our very own!) Zac Levi!

A/N: Huge thanks to both **BillatWork **and **coreymon77**, the former for beta-ing this chapter and not being afraid to question my weird typos, and the latter for giving me the idea for this chapter. Also, coreymon has brought it to my attention that there hasn't been a purely fluffy _Collide _chapter since chapter 37, so I want you to know that I am on top of that mission! :)

Happy finale day, everyone! It's been an awesome season, and we still have another to look forward to! :D

Warning: BIG spoilers for the _Legend of the Seeker_ finale. I know a bunch of you are fans, and you've probably seen it already, but if not and you don't want to be spoiled, don't read the last section!

* * *

**You by the light is the greatest find  
In the world full of wrong  
You're the thing that's right  
Finally made it through the lonely  
To the other side**

She doesn't love Bryce.

In the back of her mind, the back of her heart, she always knows that. It's part of the reason they never address the issue. They hide underneath their Anderson covers, the affectionate couple so in lust that they never have to even say the words.

One thing she appreciates about Bryce, about their relationship, is that there's no pressure.

No expectations.

She can be herself without having to worry about saying those all-important words.

They say things like:

_Nice shot._

_Thanks for the cover._

_Take an extra clip._

_You're a great partner._

The jobs get done, the bad guys get taken care of, and she's . . . comfortable. She's comfortable with his running shoes by the door, with going out for French toast the morning after a mission, with detours to the comic shop for the latest issue of _Ex Machina_. They fall into a routine that she begins to prefer to the heartbreaking solitude of the life of a CIA agent.

So yes, she's comfortable, and lonely.

Her father, while not exactly the perfect life model, at least had been a font of advice. He's the most level-headed, rational guy she knows and yet, after all he's been through, he's still _that_ guy – the one hopelessly optimistic about love.

He'd always go on about how, without a true partner, life was less fulfilling, less vibrant. There was one rule a good con artist followed – grab life by the horns, and that included leaping when it presented you with a chance at love.

_You can have all the money in the world, darlin'_, he would say, _and it won't mean a thing without someone to share it with_.

She's kept that with her since she was a teenager, and it's hard to look at Bryce without it crossing her mind.

He's a charmer, the kind of guy who takes her to the opera and splurges on expensive wine (when really, it's just as easy to get drunk and forget the real reason they're drinking on the cheap stuff) and buys her spa getaways. If her high school bullies could see her now – with a handsome, successful boyfriend – they wouldn't believe she was the same person.

Sometimes _she_ doesn't believe she's landed in this life.

She and Bryce have rising careers with the most prestigious US intelligence agency, an agency that's taught her how to be strong, confident, competent. She went from raw recruit to promising trainee in just months, and only a few years have transformed her into one of the best.

She's never been the best at anything before. She's never been so in sync with a partner. She's never felt like her life was so close to perfection.

But sometimes, she lies awake at night, listens to him snore, and longs for the days when she was such a mess that the things that made her smile were tiny and unexpected – a dollar bill on the sidewalk, an ice cream cone on a hot day, a warm pair of socks after spending two days in wet clothes and wet boots in the Indonesian jungle.

Sometimes, when you approach perfection, it throws the flaws into sharper relief, and Sarah slowly comes to realize that what she has with Bryce isn't perfection at all.

It's nice, it's fun, it's exhilarating even. And it's exactly what she needs right now.

But it's not long-term.

She's not going to be an agent forever (or maybe she is; she's not averse to the idea of going out in a blaze of glory), and his isn't the face she pictures when she imagines her future.

When she gets to that point in life where she has everything she can possibly desire – that point where she has all the money in the world – Bryce Larkin isn't going to be the person to share it with.

**You set it again my heart's in motion  
Every word feels like a shooting star  
I'm at the edge of my emotions  
Watching the shadows burning in the dark  
And I'm in love  
And I'm terrified  
For the first time  
And the last time in my only life**

With Daniel, she doesn't know what she's doing.

Well, that's not entirely true.

She _knows_ she's running away from Chuck, from the mess they've made of their relationship. She _knows_ she's handling it pathetically. What she doesn't know is why exactly she lets Daniel treat her like all her past boyfriends have treated her.

She's better than that, and yet he's exactly like Bryce, cut from the same mold. He thinks money and influence can win the girl. He takes her to fancy restaurants, to the opera (Really, she hates the opera. Would it kill a boyfriend to take her to a Dodgers game?). He buys her expensive foreign chocolate, gets her Porsche washed, waxed, and detailed.

He's high-maintenance and high profile, but sometimes all she wants to do is kick back on the couch with a beer and a movie. When she suggests that though, it's like he's never heard of the concept of staying in for the night.

Still . . . he's lost his wife, and she tells herself that she feels a connection with him because she's lost Bryce. An ache still pulses through her heart as she remembers her trip to Lisbon to spread his ashes.

They're connected by loss, yes, but she has to own up to the fact that her loss isn't Bryce's death.

It's Prague.

**And this could be good  
It's already better than that  
And nothing's worse than knowing you're holding back  
I could be  
All that you're needing  
If you let me try**

With Chuck, she had known instantly.

There's a saying at the academy:

_You will know your undoing._

Some agents had lived by it; some had thrown it out the window the first day of training, along with the rule book. She'd been in the latter camp, even with proof surrounding her each and every day.

The means of undoing doesn't always have to be a person – a lover or a nemesis – but even then an agent would know exactly what got to him. The truth was that an agent's downfall could be unexpected, could happen in his prime, and yet all those he left behind can always trace it back to one thing, one fatal flaw the agent possessed – drinking, greed, pride.

Her fatal flaw is Chuck, and she'd known the very moment she'd first walked into the Buy More that she was going to fight this thing he stirred in her or die in the attempt. She'd barely had the mission, barely had a plan, and she was barely hanging on to her heart.

She's the best the CIA's got, and yet Chuck Bartowski, a computer nerd with a _Star Wars_ collection, is able to pierce through her armor with just a hint of that dazzling smile.

She does everything she can to keep her walls up, to prevent her heart from falling, but the only thing she succeeds in doing is giving him a mother lode of mixed signals.

She tells herself over and over again that this isn't epic love, this isn't the stuff they write of in legends, this is just puppy dog infatuation that will disappear as soon as she gets off this assignment, that she's just fooling herself into thinking otherwise. But the truth of it comes out in the quiet moments, the ones that force her to see what this is becoming. They sit at dinner with Ellie and Awesome, and a feeling she hasn't known since early childhood, when her mother and sister were still around, wells up inside her heart.

There are a few times when she gets so heart-twistingly close. He asks her out when the CIA gets the cipher, and she accepts because she wants to and because Casey promises that he's not going to be disposed of for the secrets he has in his brain, except it's wrong because everything gets screwed up and her heart gets broken again.

He gives her a bracelet, an heirloom no less, and she accepts it gratefully because, hell, they might die today, and somehow that possibility feels infinitely more unjust than the danger in her own job. And if they're going to die – all of them, Jeff, Lester, Jesse, Skip, everyone whose name she can't remember – then she deserves a moment in which she feels loved.

She can tell he's mad when she tells him about the new Intersect project, about Bryce's involvement, but there's a moment when she's standing in the sun, her feet in the sand, watching Ellie and Devon's blooming happiness, and she turns her eyes toward Chuck, and she just knows. The truth has been in her heart all along, and she's finally ready to accept it. She doesn't want the life of a spy anymore if she can have happiness with him.

But then Chuck's always been a hero, and instead of spending the next six months traveling the world with no agenda and no responsibilities, they spend the next six months on opposite sides of the country, not speaking.

When they finally work things out, it's hard for her to think about all the time they wasted, hard to reconcile the good with the bad.

Every time he says those words, she thinks of that night by the fountain, his tearful speech about duty and forks and being normal. Or she thinks of that morning in the suburbs, when she had made him breakfast, and the night after when she'd had to refuse his offer to go back and hang out in their 'house.' Or she thinks of the pain she'd felt when Jill had come back, and they'd found out she was Fulcrum. The pain that came over and over again when Chuck kept _trusting_ her.

It's as if she's spent so long in solitude, in misery, that she can't comprehend the meaning of those words spoken in sincerity. She's used them for manipulation, but rarely in truth. The last time she said them she was seventeen years old, and she whispered them to her father on his way to his next con. He hadn't heard her, and she never dared repeat the sentiment after that, not even when she'd written to him in jail.

They're words she hasn't said meaningfully in over a decade, and sometimes, even though she knows how they feel in her heart, she can't remember how they feel wrapped around her tongue.

**You set it again my heart's in motion  
Every word feels like a shooting star  
I'm at the edge of my emotions  
Watching the shadows burning in the dark  
And I'm in love  
And I'm terrified  
For the first time  
And the last time in my only life**

When Chuck says it, she knows he means it.

He's the kind of guy who means it with his entire heart and soul. She can see it in his eyes, feel it in his touch, even taste it in his kiss.

And life with him becomes more than she can possibly imagine. It's like she's floating on clouds. Even the sunshine in LA feels brighter.

His Chucks by the door, homemade pancakes in the morning, trips to the comic shop on Wednesday afternoon – it all sends a tiny thrill through her. And yet, at the same time, it all becomes so familiar that it's like she was made for this, made to be his other half. This is the life she's waited all her own for, and she marvels at how she's never realized it until now.

But there's something missing.

Chuck's become a great liar over the past three years, but he can't lie to her. His misgivings are written all over his face when he tells her he loves her and she doesn't say anything back.

She's stupid, nearly defective, when it comes to relationships, but she's always thought that he understood her, understood that she's more actions than words. She says it in the way she holds him at night, or the way she kisses him before a mission, or the way she spends hours at the gun range in Castle to be sure she won't be off her mark the next time he gets into trouble.

But Chuck . . . Chuck's a guy of words. And once in a while, she needs to say it back. The dream scare pounds that into her head like nothing else could.

After all, the distance between your heart and your tongue is so small, but it can cause so much pain when you don't tell loved ones how you feel about them.

So when he gets back from his last session with the Doc, she stands up from the couch and lets it out.

"I love you."

It's so much simpler after she says it. She's not sure what she was so afraid of.

Chuck wraps her into a hug, holds her tight, and she smiles against his shoulder and whispers it again.

But when they break apart, his brow is furrowed and his jaw is taut.

"Hey," she murmurs, "what's the matter? I thought . . . I wanted you to know . . ."

"No, no, no," he shakes his head as he pulls her down to sit on the couch, "it's not that at all. It's just . . . Sarah, I've got something to tell you, and I . . ."

His hands holding hers are moist, and she gives them a squeeze.

"Chuck, just say it. You know you can tell me anything."

Taking a deep breath, he gazes at her. Slowly, he says, "Sarah, you know my dreams? Well, Doc said they're the Intersect messing with my brain. I'm okay, I'm okay." He's quick to reassure her when she opens her mouth in concern, and he continues, "And he says I can figure out what the Intersect's trying to tell me through my dreams. . . ." He swallows nervously before adding, "But he also says . . . he says that, if I keep flashing, if I keep having dreams, my brain will start . . . deteriorating."

His voice cracks as he confesses it, and his eyes have filled with tears. The weight of the news hits Sarah right in the chest, a sting that she can't shake. She leans forward and slides a hand to his cheek.

"Chuck," she murmurs, "what did he say exactly?"

"I don't know," he shakes his head. "It's all kind of a blur. It may not happen right away. It may not happen for years."

She can tell from the way he refuses to meet her eyes how scared he is.

"Listen to me, Chuck," she says, threading her fingers through his beautiful dark hair. "I know this is scary, but think of all the things you've done, all the dangers you've faced. You're still here. You're still _you_. This? This is going to be nothing compared to the things you've seen over the past three years."

"How do you know?"

A soft smile graces her lips as she caresses his temple with her thumb. "Because you've got me now, and I'm not leaving you. Okay?"

He smiles soberly and accepts her kiss, but he still doesn't look convinced.

The truth is she's terrified. She's only just found him and here's the possibility that she's going to lose him. But being a spy has taught her the importance of living in the moment, and of never giving up.

She's not going to let him go without a fight. Even if she has to search the entire world for someone who can help him, she'll do it, because he's her guy.

"This is going to be okay, Chuck," she tells him quietly. "_We_'re going to be okay. Because I love you."

**I only said it cause I mean it  
I only meant it cause it's true  
So don't you doubt what I've been dreaming  
'Cause it fills me up and holds me close whenever I'm without you**

Three years ago, she wouldn't have gotten it, wouldn't have understood such a love.

Chuck and Morgan have been _Legend of the Seeker_ fans since it began airing two seasons ago, and the second season finale has them all atwitter. She watches it with them on Saturday nights, even enjoys it, and enjoys watching the crazy adventures of the group and the sweet moments between Richard and Kahlan.

She's used to their overenthusiastic attitude toward television, but for once, she's genuinely flabbergasted. Besides betrayal and surprises and badassery and action, the two-part finale has featured a truly epic love story.

"That was ridiculous," she comments, curling a lock of his hair around her finger as he lies across her lap.

Chuck smiles. "But ridiculous in a good way, right?" She nods, and he says, "I can't believe Kahlan _killed_ Richard. I can't believe he just forgave her like that. I mean, I know he sealed the rift and saved the world and everything, so he was probably euphoric, but she _killed_ him. Stabbed him right through the heart!"

Chuckling, Sarah suggests, "It _was_ a very long episode, and they had to fit a lot in. They couldn't drag out her forgiveness too long."

"Suppose not."

"Besides," she says quietly, staring at the television contemplatively, "he loved her. And she loved him enough to come out of the Con Dar, and to create another Stone of Tears . . ."

"Sarah Walker," he grins up at her, "all that grumbling, but I knew you were really invested."

She leans down to press a kiss to his lips. "Isn't that what you do when I drag you to Dodgers games? You grumble, but you love it."

"You know I do."

"Well, this is one show you watch that I _do_ like, so I'm sad that it's over."

"We've got two amazing seasons to rewatch as many times as you want," he laughs.

Sarah shakes her head. Her smile fades as she looks down at him and says, "Chuck, I hope you know . . ."

A warm feeling suffuses her heart as he gazes up at her with those brown eyes she loves so much.

She gets it now. She gets that kind of epic love that leads a person to forgive another no matter what they've done, to sacrifice everything they've ever known to be with them, to give them up to allow them to move on.

To do anything to protect them.

CIA agents are a dime a dozen, but she and Chuck have something that no one else can touch, no one else can take away.

Sarah grins.

"Richard and Kahlan ain't got nothing on us."

**You set it again my heart's in motion  
Every word feels like a shooting star  
I'm at the edge of my emotions  
Watching the shadows burning in the dark  
And I'm in love  
And I'm terrified  
For the first time  
And the last time in my only life**


	43. Between Two Lungs

Song: "Between Two Lungs," by Florence + the Machine

A/N: As usual, thanks to **BillatWork **for the beta!

* * *

Chuck looks up from his comic book to stare out the train window.

The past few days have been plagued with niggling doubt, because he's given up his future (the future of his country?) for a chance with this woman, and she's given up everything she's known (everything she's fought for?), and the train scene had been a massacre of misguided self-sacrifice, nearly a blood bath that had sent them hurtling in opposite directions.

Because what happens when the storm comes, and the only thing she can see is how he stood in the way of her life? He doesn't want to be that one decision she regrets.

And then there's a moment, as Chuck looks out the window and sees the countryside hurtling past, when everything hits him at once. His heart starts beating wildly, so wildly that he's certain he's going to go into cardiac arrest. And then Sarah – like she can sense every single emotion running through his veins – threads her fingers through his, shoots him a smile, presses a quick kiss to the corner of his mouth, and all of a sudden he's not so much freefalling as he is floating.

Shifting in her seat, she leans her back against the window and slides her legs over his lap. Her lips pursed thoughtfully, she intertwines their fingers in a lazy dance, and he's left to gaze at her.

Maybe it's because he's been coddled before – by his sister, by Jill (before she mangled his heart, twice) – but he likes that she doesn't come right out and say that everything is going to be all right. He likes that she doesn't take him back to their private car so they can forget about their troubles. He likes that she makes him work at this. So often it seemed to be Sarah anchoring them, and him too lost and confused to do much more than fret.

With a slight smile, he leans over and presses a kiss to her lips.

Sarah comes alive, threading her fingers into his newly-shorn hair and pulling him back for another kiss.

"Hey," he murmurs against her lips.

"Hey," she chuckles. "I've missed you."

He lifts an eyebrow. "What are you talking about?"

"You haven't said a word since Poznan. I was beginning to get worried."

"Just thinking," he shrugs as he settles back into his seat.

"Well," she drawls, "too much thinking can get you in trouble sometimes."

He turns his head in time to see a glimmer in her eyes, and he recalls the night she asked him to run away. He can still smell her perfume, still see the furrow in her brow, the way her straight blond hair fell against her shoulders.

Can still see the hope shining in her striking blue eyes.

_I'm saying I want to be a real person again . . . with you._

"Or maybe not enough thinking?" he queries, desperately needing and yet not wanting to know which category that night falls under.

Silently, she shakes her head. And then she looks up, and gives him a smile, and he knows. That night had been the first night she'd laid aside all her expectations and rules and restrictions in order to put him first.

In order to choose him.

Now, he could only hope that this new life they've chosen, a life on the run, is what she really wants. He wouldn't exactly describe living under false identities as becoming a real person again, but then again, he was never as embroiled and entangled with the spy world as Sarah was.

Sarah, who couldn't take a breath without the agency knowing, without it taking measure and evaluating. She'd been trapped, and here she is, holding his hand, on a train speeding through the Polish countryside.

And maybe he doesn't understand what passes for 'normal' anymore, but if she's by his side, he's sure as hell willing to figure out their own definition.

**Between two lungs it was released  
The breath that captured me  
The sigh that blew me forward**

Chuck has never been surrounded by so much chocolate, and the scent of it is downright incredible. He sucks in a deep breath, trying to memorize the sweet aroma, to keep it in his lungs.

Sarah's chattering away in German to the store owner, a wizened old woman with a sharp, delightful laugh, but, even with his new Intersect abilities, he's too taken with the atmosphere of this place to pay attention to the conversation.

They're in a little town just outside of Bremen, where the roofs are red tile and the grass is greener than he'd ever imagined was possible and the people are actually interested in each other. And in the mornings, when they're sitting on their balcony eating breakfast and looking out across the hills, he can imagine just what it would be like to stay here forever, to raise a family in these rolling hills.

He's pulled out of his daydreams as Sarah laughs lightly and says a friendly goodbye. The bag of chocolates in one hand, she takes him by the other, and he bids the owner one last 'danke' before they head out into the June sunshine.

"Mmm," Sarah murmurs through a mouthful of chocolate. "I told you – best chocolate in Germany."

Chuck laughs. "They all say that."

"But this is me saying it. Here, just try it!"

And she deftly pops a piece into his open mouth. His eyes widen as the richness overwhelms his tongue.

"Oh, my God," he murmurs, grinning, "that _is_ amazing."

Sarah smirks at him. "Told you."

"You know," he begins, sliding his palm to the small of her back, "I never knew you liked chocolate so much."

"Well," she begins with a shrug, "you wouldn't exac-"

But her words are cut off when a young man in a sweatshirt and hood comes hurtling by, knocking into Sarah and sending her toppling against Chuck.

"Hey!" Chuck shouts after him, but the man is nearly to the intersection already, tripping over his feet, his arm hugged close to his chest.

Sarah's gaze is far away as she stares at the passerby thoughtfully. "Chuck . . ." she murmurs, and he can tell something in her mind is falling into place.

"Thief!"

It's a distant shout that comes from behind them, from the direction the man had come, but it's enough for Sarah. She takes off, expertly dodging through the people crowding the sidewalk as she pursues the criminal.

A frown on his face, Chuck sighs before following her. He's less graceful as he maneuvers through everyone, and he runs into a broad-shouldered man just as he catches sight of Sarah disappearing around a corner.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he apologizes hastily. "Could I, I just need to –"

The man sidesteps, and Chuck staggers down the sidewalk again. When he makes it to the alleyway, skidding to a stop, Sarah's kneeling on the cobblestones as she grabs at the burglar's collar and drags a punch across his jaw. The force knocks his head against the wall, knocking him out. Sarah sits back, panting, and swipes the back of her hand across her mouth before looking up at him.

He nods, eyes wide in wonder. "Nice job, honey."

"Thanks," she smiles. Holding out her hand, she requests, "Now give me your shoelaces."

"What? Why?" He looks down at his Converses, bounces on his feet confusedly.

"I need to tie him up." Chuck hesitates, but then she gestures and says, "I'll buy you new ones, sweetie, I promise," and he bends down to untie the lace of his left shoe.

"What are you going to do with him?"

"Tie him up, leave him here, call the police."

Handing her the shoelace, he lets out a soft chuckle. Just this morning, he was thinking how this trip couldn't get much more unusual. "So, what'd he steal anyway?"

"A laptop, a bunch of money, some jewelry," she tells him, indicating the pile of loot beside him with a tilt of her head as she ties the man's hands behind his back. "I need your other one, too."

Sounding his protest with a quiet harrumph, he nevertheless obeys. She urges him in a whisper to hurry, and then ties the burglar by his bound hands to a pipe and leans him against the dumpster.

She stands and reaches out for his hand to help him up. They leave the alley on the opposite side they came in, Chuck stumbling in his unlaced sneakers, and take the shortest route back to their inn, only stopping at a pay phone for Sarah to call in an anonymous tip to the police.

When they reach their room at the inn, she walks inside, sits down on the edge of the bed, and kicks off her shoes. Chuck follows her lead, taking a seat on the opposite edge of the mattress.

He's not really quite sure what to say, because he's trying to give her normal and real, but all they keep running into is _this_.

At least she didn't have her handcuffs with her, he rationalizes, and the thought makes him chuckle.

"What?" Sarah asks, turning to him with a smile.

"I was just thinking," he says, "are we vigilantes now?"

She lets out a happy laugh and lies back on the mattress. "I dunno. Doesn't that require you to break the law? I don't think we did that. Just . . . helped it a bit."

Smiling, he leans over her and replies, "Well, I'm a bit confused. Are we trying to keep a low profile, or are we going back to capturing bad guys?"

"I hardly think tying up one thief counts as catching bad guys," she argues lightly, sliding a finger down his cheek, "but even so, it may be best not to linger here."

Chuck presses his forehead against hers and takes a deep breath. "You know me, Sarah, I'll follow you anywhere."

Sarah grins, and leans up to kiss him.

**Because it was trapped  
Trapped between two lungs  
It was trapped between two lungs  
It was trapped between two lungs  
And my running feet could fly  
Each breath screaming: "We are all too young to die!"**

A _click_ resounds through the hotel room as Sarah slides a new clip into her trusty Smith & Wesson. She tucks it into the back of her waistband, grabs another gun from the table, and holds it out to him.

"Sarah," Chuck breathes, "you know how much I hate . . . _that_."

"I do," she nods, "which is why it's just a tranq gun." She nabs a piece of lint off his black jacket and tells him with a serious smile, "Don't worry. I'll take care of the other stuff."

Winding one arm around her waist, he draws her close. He still recalls standing by the fountain, her hand in his, and promising to leave the spy stuff to her.

But things have a funny way of working out, he supposes. Nowadays, leaving the 'spy stuff' to her means carrying a tranq gun while she gets the bullets.

They're dressed all in black, from her sweatshirt and his jacket to their footwear – black boots for her, new black Converses for him. They've been taking odd jobs like this – some for free, some not – since back in Germany. Two months and five countries later, she's accumulated a veritable arsenal, and they've gathered basic resources like rope, knock-out gas, grappling hooks, an electronic decoder, new (and not always savory) contacts, a variety of false identities. Tonight, she's armed with more weapons than he can count, while he carries the supply bag.

Sarah curls her fingers into his hair. "Are you clear on the plan?"

He nods. "Yeah. We're just sending a message, right?"

"Right," she smiles, pressing a kiss to his lips.

The thing about crime bosses is that they will undoubtedly beef up security on their lair or private residences, but they tend to not be as scrupulous about the buildings nearby. Which is why, when Chuck and Sarah arrive at their destination, they have no problem getting into the building and onto the roof.

As they stand side-by-side at the precipice, Chuck takes a deep breath.

"You got this?" Sarah queries, glancing over at him.

He takes another breath, wipes the palms of his hands on his jeans, and replies, "Yeah."

She hands him a rope and gives him a smile before lowering herself over the edge. Chuck turns around, flexes his fingers around the rope, and pushes off. It only takes him a moment to reach the seventeenth story. He turns his head to check the level, sees Sarah beckoning to him from the balcony. Flexing his knees, he shoves off the side of the building and swings over to the balcony. When he lands shakily, Sarah reaches out to steady him.

"You all right?" she whispers.

"Uh-huh. Yep," he reassures her, straightening and pulling his tranq gun.

They're in place on either side of the glass doors now, and Sarah waits for him to get settled and take a breath before giving the signal. She kneels down to expertly pick the lock and, simultaneously, they burst in, guns drawn as they approach the bed.

Their target, Teddy Ames, is sleeping soundly, his snores resounding through the room.

Sarah launches a knife at his head, and it lands with a _thunk_ into the wood of the headboard, an inch above his ear. He sits up with a start, his eyes widening with fright when he sees their guns pointed at him.

"Stay calm," Chuck says, "or the next one will be right between your eyes. And trust me - she never misses."

Ames gulps, taking a moment to gather his nerves before asking calmly, "Who are you?"

Sarah offers him a quick, mirthless smile. "Let's just say we represent some people who have issues with the way you run things, and they'd like it to stop."

"Why should I listen to you if I don't even know who sent you?"

"Because they're the kind of people who want us to put a bullet into your brain, that's why."

Ames glares at Sarah. "Do you know who I am, young lady?"

"Watch it," Chuck growls, taking a step forward.

Sarah shoots him a warning look before saying, "We're here to offer you a choice, Ames. You give everything up, disband your organization, and we have a nice little cottage and retirement package waiting for you in Switzerland."

"And what if I don't want to move to Switzerland? What then? I die?" He's got a little smirk on his face, like he knows their game.

"No," Sarah replies shortly. "Your wife and son do."

It's a bluff, Chuck knows that. Even though, in their recon, they'd found Ames's safe house, they have no way of following through on that threat. Not that he'd let Sarah take it to that extreme anyway. But Ames has no way of knowing that. For all he knows, they could be just the front men for a much bigger operation; they could have eyes on his safe house at this very moment. He blanches and Chuck thinks the guy's actually going to be sick.

Quietly, Chuck says, "It's simple really. Something's gotta die - your organization or your family. Doesn't seem like that hard a choice to me, buddy."

Ames swallows. "And my family . . . they'll be safe?"

"They'll be with you, yes," Chuck nods.

"Okay. Okay, fine," Ames chokes out. "I accept your offer."

Curtly, Sarah says, "We'll give you forty-eight hours to disband, and then we'll no longer have a problem. Will we?"

Ames nods, and Chuck says, "Then we'll be in touch."

And they're out as quickly as they came in.

They're back in their room before he knows it, slotting back into their lives like the normal tourists they're masquerading as. And then they're standing in the bathroom, shoulder to shoulder as they brush their teeth, and Sarah pulls her toothbrush out of her mouth and, flecks of cinnamon toothpaste still on her lips, bumps his shoulder and says, "You know, I kind of like it when you get protective."

Chuck spits out a mouthful of toothpaste and stretches an arm around her to rest his hand on the countertop. A grin on his face, he says, "Oh, yeah? You like that?"

She regards him cursorily in the mirror as she gurgles some water. A smile gracing her lips, she replies, "Well, it's certainly something new."

He smiles at her in the mirror. She's always going to be the one protecting him, he can see that, and he appreciates it and likes it even, but he's not going to step down when a guy like Ames underestimates her like that.

She swipes a towel across her mouth and says quietly, "You were good in there."

"Thank you."

Breathing a heavy sigh, he leans into her and rests his chin on her shoulder. He closes his eyes for a moment, and when he opens them, there's a content look on her face, a sparkle in her eye, and he wonders what was going through her mind when she asked him to run. She wanted real, wanted to experience real emotions and a real relationship, and all he's given her is an unofficial version of they had before.

"We're not exactly normal, are we?" he murmurs, burying his head against her shoulder.

Sarah turns and winds her arms about his neck. "No," she chuckles, "and somehow I don't think we're ever going to be. But-" she draws out the word, teases his lips with soft kisses, and continues, "I'm okay with that, as long as I know you are. After all, I know how much you've wanted a normal life, ever since this started,"

He presses his forehead to hers. Maybe she's right. Maybe he's the one clinging to this idea of normalcy, when all she wants is to be together, no matter what their life is like.

With a smile, he tilts his head to kiss her again and says, "Normal is whenever I'm with you."

**Between two lungs it was released  
The breath that passed from you to me  
That flew between us as we slept  
That slipped from your mouth into mine  
It crept between two lungs  
It was released  
The breath that passed from you to me  
That flew between us as we slept  
That slipped from your mouth into mine  
It crept**

With a sigh, Sarah collapses into bed and curls up against him. He groans sleepily as she slides a hand up his chest. They've pulled double duty tonight, overseeing a shipment of medical supplies and doing a security gig for an artist, and Chuck is too exhausted to even pull the bedspread up after Sarah slides in.

But he has enough energy to smile when she trails a finger over his beard.

She presses a weary kiss to the corner of his mouth, and he lifts a hand to run his fingers through her hair.

"I think I need a trim," he murmurs, scratching his cheek. After three weeks, he's finally gotten used to the feel of his beard.

"Maybe in a few days," she replies. "But I like it."

Contemplatively, he twirls a strand of blond hair around his fingertip. "Morgan and I tried to grow them one summer. We were . . . nineteen, I think. I hadn't even gotten a week before Ellie made me shave."

"Well, obviously you hadn't grown it out enough, and she didn't have the opportunity to realize how handsome you'd look with facial hair."

Sarah's smiling sleepily, but his face falls at the mention of his sister. He loves being with Sarah, loves facing the world and facing their problems with her, but there's an undeniable pain in his heart when he thinks about Ellie. It's been nearly four months, and all he has are infrequent, five-minute phone calls.

"Hey," Sarah murmurs, lifting her head to gaze down at him. His breath catches at the sight of her in the moonlight, and she thumbs at his cheek and says, "What'samatter?"

"Nothing," he shakes his head. "Just . . . thinking about Ellie."

"Oh, Chuck," she breathes, brushing her lips against his. "I know this is hard, but –"

"We can't risk phone calls more than once a week," he finishes for her, irritation sneaking into his voice. "I know that. I just wish . . ."

She strokes his face and whispers, "I know, Chuck. I know."

"I'd like to see her, that's all, and it's stupid. I know we can't. But I can't help thinking about what I'm missing out on."

"Like what?" she asks softly, settling back against him.

"Like . . . what if they have kids soon? What if I never get to see my nieces and nephews?"

"Hey, listen to me," she says, turning his face toward her. "I promise you that will never happen. I know how much they mean to you, and this was never a choice between family and a life with me. Just give me some time, and I'll figure this out."

Chuck smiles and kisses her. "I love you," he whispers.

She curls her fingers into his hair. "Do you trust me?" He nods. She presses another soft kiss to his lips and murmurs, "Thank you."

They lie in silence for a few moments, Chuck nearly drifting off to sleep. But there's a lot on his mind, and they only seem to discuss serious matters at night, in the dark, when no one can pinpoint their sorrow.

"You know," he mutters, "this life isn't so different from our old one."

"No," she whispers, "not so different."

He's not sure how that makes him feel.

There are times, during the rush of a job, when he feels exactly like he did on a mission. He feels like he's fighting for something, like he's making a difference. He thought he'd given that up when he'd chosen her, but maybe a life with her and a life of good deeds aren't as mutually exclusive as he once thought.

Even so, he's starting to think of all this – the adrenaline and the fun and the glamour – as extra.

All he needs is her really. That's enough.

They generally keep a low profile, which means very little room service unless the cover calls for it, but the next morning they're both still so tired that they risk it anyway. Chuck stays in bed with his coffee and a Norwegian newspaper while Sarah eats at the table, sitting so she can watch him and look out the balcony doors easily.

When all is said and done, he loves mornings like this, just sleeping in and sharing a breakfast.

"You want some eggs?" Sarah asks without lifting her eyes from the magazine she's flipping through.

"Hrrm," he groans in affirmation.

Sarah chuckles. "How you ever managed to work the morning shift is beyond me."

He grins at her as she brings a plate over to him and settles down on the mattress. Folding up the paper, he sits up against the headboard and takes the breakfast gratefully.

"Thanks," he says.

"You're welcome," she smiles, reaching out to stroke his cheek.

He closes his eyes at the touch, and she trails the back of a finger along his jaw, just staring at him. After a few minutes, he starts to wonder what she's thinking when she looks at him, whether she sees the same thing he does when he looks at her. She's quiet and taciturn and sometimes he doesn't really get what she tries to say to him through her kiss instead of through words, but he loves her, and he'll stay by her side until she tells him to go.

A few minutes go by before she whispers, "Marry me."

"What?"

She shrugs. "We've already run away together, Chuck. . . . And you're the most important thing in my life. I know that. I've always know that. But living like this has made me realize that I can't waste any more time. . . . Besides, I love you."

Chuck blinks in surprise, takes in the shy affection in her averted gaze, and suddenly everything slots into place. Through it all - through living on the run, surviving in the shadows, answering to someone else's name - she's the only thing that makes sense. In a world full of madness, she's the only thing that will ever mean anything. When he's surrounded by lies and deceit, she's the one touch of truth.

And her words make him realize that he's the same for her. Sarah Walker has lived in an empty world, and yet she's somehow been able to rise above her surroundings and carve meaning out of it.

She's made meaning in _this_, in _them_.

Grinning, he leans up to capture her lips.

**Because it was trapped  
Trapped between two lungs  
It was trapped between two lungs**

"Come on, Chuck!" Sarah calls behind her, laughing as she takes off down the hill.

Chuck shakes his head as she jogs ahead of him on their way back to town. He's worn-out from a full day of hiking, but it's nice to just be themselves and act like tourists. They're always holing up in inn rooms and ducking into the back tables at bars, so to be out in the open air, in the mountains, experiencing the sights, is a welcome change.

Laughing, he picks up his pace and sprints down to catch her.

He loops an arm around her shoulders and teases, "Trying to get away from me, are you?"

She lets out an enchanted laugh and hooks her hand with his. "Just testing your stamina." He's about to reply playfully when she turns around and pulls him down the street. "Now come on, I want to show you something!"

"What is it?" he smiles. "What's so important that I can't rest my legs for a few minutes? We've been hiking all day."

"You'll see," she replies, a familiar sparkle in her eyes.

He'll follow her anywhere, and she knows that, so he keeps quiet and lets her lead him. It's not far before they're rounding a corner into a small cobblestone square. Sarah, still dragging him by the hand, leads him over to a flowing fountain with a statue of a knight on horseback. They perch on the edge, basking in the warm Slovakian sun, and Chuck can almost imagine staying here forever.

He slings his backpack off, sets it between his feet, and lets out a relaxing breath. Sarah takes off her pack and offers him some water. He murmurs a thank-you, takes a long refreshing gulp, but can't help but notice her tense posture, the way she seems to be waiting for something.

"Everything okay?" he asks.

"Fine," she replies with a smile.

But then her gaze goes to the clock in the corner of the square again, and he knows something's up.

"You sure?" She nods and he asks, "Is this what you wanted to show me? The fountain?"

"Just . . . just wait."

He shakes his head and lies down with his head in her lap, because with Sarah, patience is always the best strategy. He closes his eyes to rest, letting out a deep breath when she runs her fingers through his hair. A few minutes later, she shakes him by the shoulder.

When he blinks up at her in confusion, she laughs, tilts her head, and says, "Over there."

Chuck lifts his head in time to see his sister and brother-in-law heading towards them under a covered walkway.

Ellie's beaming.

Sitting up hastily, he stares at Sarah. "H-how?" he stammers.

She shrugs modestly, but there's a grin on her face. "Remember that hospital job we did in Vienna? I pulled a few strings. The Awesomes are officially at a medical conference in Austria; they just happened to take a day off and cross the border."

He slides a hand to her neck and rests his forehead against hers. "Sarah . . . thank you."

Pressing a soft kiss to his lips, she murmurs, "Happy birthday, Chuck."

He stands to greet his sister, but she's already there, embracing him fiercely.

"Oh, Chuck," Ellie breathes as she nearly squeezes the breath out of him. "I'm so glad you're safe."

"I can't believe you're here!" he exclaims.

Devon prises his wife off her little brother with a laugh before moving in for his own hug. "Well," he says, "we owe it all to Sarah here."

"Yeah, she's something, isn't she?" Chuck grins, sliding an arm around his girlfriend's waist.

Ellie, leaning into her husband, settles a happy gaze upon them. She pokes Chuck in the arm. "I've always told you this girl was special."

Sarah blushes lightly, but she says, "You must be tired from the train ride. Why don't you come back to our room with us for a while, and then we can go out for dinner?"

"Sounds good to us," Devon says. "Are you going to give us the authentic Slovak experience?"

"You betcha, bro," Chuck assures him as they gather their bags and head down the street.

He walks hand-in-hand with Sarah, with Ellie on his other side and Devon beside her. The conversation around him is animated and lively, but he lets it flow without him. There's a flickering in his chest, a warm, hopeful feeling. The circumstances may be far from ordinary, but this is his family, and he wouldn't trade them for the world.

**Now all the days of begging  
The days of theft  
No more gasping for a breath  
The air has filled me head-to-toe  
And I can see the ground far below**

The church, a tiny 14th-century structure of crumbling stone that's full of worn statues and boasts intricate and stunning stained-glass windows, is nestled in the mountains, and Chuck would be in awe of its beauty if Sarah weren't standing next to him. She's in a simple green sundress, but somehow she outshines even the majesty of the vista from the surrounding cliffs.

He had imagined this moment, long ago. He had seen them at a large reception, surrounded by friends. They would pull out all the stops - tuxes and gowns, flowers, music, drinks. It'd be a party to remember.

This, this is so much different than anything he'd envisioned, but no less memorable.

Instead of a fancy tuxedo, he's dressed in khakis and a button-down. They're all under false names - Ralph and Sam for Chuck and Sarah; Katie and Colin for Ellie and Awesome as witnesses. And instead of a big reception, they simply go out to dinner to celebrate. And drink a lot of wine.

And truth be told, Chuck couldn't be happier.

Their life may be far from normal, but she's everything he needs.

"To life, love, and happiness!" Devon toasts cheerfully, his voice booming in the small restaurant.

The remaining three hold up their glasses, and Chuck adds, "To family, new and old, for always being there."

Ellie sighs and says, "To family, because who else can we cling to when everything goes to the dogs?"

Sarah, a contemplative smile on her lips, tilts her glass and stays silent for a moment. Quietly, she says, "Family. For helping us find true meaning in this chaos."

"To family," they echo in a toast before sipping their wine.

An hour or so later, when Sarah has sleepily rested her head against Chuck's shoulder, he presses a gentle kiss to her forehead. He looks across the table at his sister, and they share a quiet smile.

"I love you, little brother," Ellie tells him softly.

"Love you, too, El," he smiles.

"Take care of her, okay? You're a husband now."

Devon nods sagely. "It's not as easy as it looks, bro. But you can do it. You've got the foundation already."

"And what foundation would that be, Devon?"

"Love, dude. All you need is love."

**I have this breath and I hold it tight  
And I keep it in my chest with all my might  
I pray to God this breath will last  
As it pushes past my lips  
As I . . . **

The cell is cleaner than he expected, but it's chilly and dark, with just a few slivers of moonlight streaming in through the barred window. Sarah's wrapped in her sweatshirt and curled up against him, their hands linked.

"Don't worry," she assures him quietly, running her thumb over his knuckles. "We've had worse."

"We have," he agrees with a slight smile. But then the smile fades and he adds, "But we've always had someone to help when we got in scrapes. No one even knows we're here."

Now, they're stuck in an Irish prison for questioning in connection with a crime ring, and there's no one to come and save them this time.

Sarah lifts her head, slides a hand to his neck, and presses a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth. "I know, Casey's not coming to get us out of this mess. But we've still got each other, and we'll figure something out. Let's just . . . let's get some sleep and we'll think of something in the morning."

He nods, and kisses her again. "Okay, okay," he whispers. "I trust you."

They settle down to an uneasy sleep, only to be woken in the early hours of the morning by the guards, who grab them roughly to handcuff them and lead them to an interrogation room. Chuck looks over at Sarah, who gives him a tight, reassuring smile.

And then the door bangs open, and a hulk of a man dressed in jeans and a military jacket strides in. The flashlight he holds up is too bright for them to make out more than his frame and his clothing, but he lowers it after a moment.

After his eyes adjust, Chuck's jaw drops open, and he chokes out, "C-Casey? How'd you find us?"

Casey smirks and sits down across from them. "You two have proved quite elusive," he says as he slaps a file on the table and opens it, "but the Awesomes' trip to that little medical conference raised our suspicions, and we finally caught up with you."

"Took you long enough," Sarah retorts good-naturedly.

Casey grunts softly, an eyebrow raised as he flips through the file. "You've become quite the stuff of legends. Been all over Europe, never stopping for more than a week or two, and always finding a 'good deed' to do wherever you stop."

A worried frown on his face, Chuck slides his hand over to grasp Sarah's. Casey rolls his eyes.

"You can give up the married act now," he grumbles.

"Too bad it's not an act," Sarah responds with quiet force, lifting her gaze in a challenge.

Casey pauses in his rifling to look up. "Huh," he grunts, keeping his eyes on hers, "so . . . finally picked a good one, I see."

Chuck watches a shy smile bloom on Sarah's face, feeling like he's intruding into a private moment between partners.

Sarah clears her throat and says, "I would've thought you'd have known, Casey. Why else would we have run?"

"Well," he smirks, "you must not like it very much. Why else would you have let yourselves be caught?"

Chuck, feeling the tension in the air, gulps loudly, but Sarah just laughs.

"All right, Casey," she says, "what do you want?"

The colonel leans back in his chair. "I'm here with an ultimatum from Beckman. She wants one last job from you here in Ireland. If you do it, she'll forgive your . . . shenanigans."

Sarah bites the corner of her lip thoughtfully and glances off to the side before prompting, "And if we don't?"

"Prison," Casey shrugs. "For your crimes against the American government."

Chuck closes his eyes with a sigh and lets his head hang. Sarah gives his hand another subtle squeeze.

"Do I have to spell it out for you?" Casey grunts. "You work with us, you get your old life back. You don't, you get no life at all. Clear enough for you?"

"Can we have a few minutes alone?" Chuck asks.

**Between two lungs it was released  
The breath that passed from you to me**

Chuck squints out the window at their temporary house as Sarah slows their car to a stop. The cottage is small and cute and white, and it sits on the coast, on the cliffs overlooking the misty sea. They won't be here for long, hopefully, but at least they can make a home out of this place.

"You okay with this?" Chuck queries.

Sarah smiles at him. "Of course. Our last job, and then home. And I can't wait to share that with you."

"Hey," he says, reaching over to slide his hand over hers, "I know you wanted to have a real life, and going back to what we had before isn't exactly what you had in mind, but you'd tell me if you weren't okay with this, right?"

She leans over to press a kiss to his lips. "But we're not going back to what we had before, are we? We've got each other now."

"Yeah," he grins, "we've got each other."


	44. Gardenia

Song: "Gardenia," Mandy Moore

A/N: I've _finally _got my alerts working again! Apparently this site does not like my original e-mail address. *shrug* Oh, well! I know it's been a while since I updated this story, but I hope you enjoy it. _Two weeks until the new season!_ :D

* * *

"Now, Chuck," Awesome intones, holding up the question card, "for a dismal, last place finish: What is Sarah's favorite movie?"

Sarah shakes her head when she hears the question. They're playing that ridiculous dating game, the object to see how well couples know each other. They haven't played it in a while, but she and Chuck are doing as poorly as they did the first time. Even Morgan and Alex, partners by default, are doing better.

It's not Chuck's fault, really. She's been killing on questions about him, because she's lived near him for nearly three years. But how is Chuck supposed to answer his questions when she's been a closed book for all that time? _She_ doesn't even know the answers to half the questions about her, and she definitely doesn't know what her favorite movie is.

So she's nibbling at her bottom lip as she writes her answer on her white board. When she lifts her head, Chuck's staring at her with a playful, incredulous look.

"What?" she queries, biting back a chuckle.

"I'm never gonna get this, am I?" her boyfriend asks in reply, his eyes sparkling.

Sarah lets out a laugh. "Probably not, I'm afraid."

Ellie rolls her eyes as Chuck hangs his head. He lifts it again with a sigh and holds out his board.

"_Toy Story 3_, that's my guess," he says as he slumps back in the armchair, already conceding defeat.

When Sarah flips her board around, he sits up so violently that he accidentally kicks the coffee table.

"Are you kidding me?" he exclaims, throwing his hands up. "_Seven Brides for Seven Brothers_? Really? How was I supposed to guess that?"

Sarah lets out a belly laugh. "I knew you wouldn't, but what was I supposed to write?" With a sheepish shrug, she adds, "I remember liking it when I was little."

Chuck, with a shake of his head, sets down his board and says, "Sarah, I do believe this is not our game."

"You got that right, bro," Awesome intones. "I haven't seen anyone lose this badly at a board game since Christmas of '04."

He turns to his sister and the rest of the room to plead, "Can we please play Trivial Pursuit?"

"No way!" Morgana protests, his hands in the air. "Sarah kills at that, and you know it."

Sarah rolls her eyes and says, "Well, Morgan, we also know that I suck at this game, so . . ."

Ellie gives Sarah a comforting pat on the shoulder. "Oh, Sarah, it won't be so bad once you get to know each other a bit better."

Alex has been pretty quiet all evening, but right now she pipes up with, "I thought you two had been dating for years now."

Both Sarah and Chuck stare at her, and then Chuck says, "It's been kind of a tumultuous three years."

Sarah snorts in amusement. It certainly has.

**Well, I put so much thought into getting ready  
Now I know that was the best part**

A shirtless, life-jacketed Awesome hoists his paddle above his head and lets out an exhilarated shout as his kayak is spit out by the rapids. Sarah comes through right on his heels, paddling hard to veer right and avoid a rock. She hits the last crest of white water a little sideways, and ends up accidentally executing a 360 on her way out of the rapids.

Resting her arms, she lets the kayak drift, and a grin comes to her face as she meets up with Devon.

"Nice job, little sis," he congratulates, reaching out for a high five.

Sarah rolls her eyes at the nickname. Ever since she and Chuck quit the spy biz, Ellie and Awesome have gotten it into their head that the two are next in line for marriage. To convince them, Awesome's even taking to calling her "little sis."

"Thanks, Devon," she replies, almost giddily. The adrenaline is still coursing through her, the blood pounding in her ears. It's a feeling she's missed, but it's slightly different than the rushes she used to experience on missions. Then, it was bravery in the face of death, one wrong step and it was all over. Now, it's a release, an overwhelming flood of energy that comes not from defying death, but simply from facing your fears with someone you care about by your side. "I haven't white water kayaked in a while. It's nice to get out like this."

Especially on a day like this. The sun is beaming down at them, golden rays glistening on the water, sending sparkles through the air. Birds chirp a soft, welcoming melody. Sarah's partly amazed that her life has slowed down enough for her to notice something as tiny as the sounds in the forest. Partly amazed, partly grateful.

Devon laughs quietly. "Well, I can't imagine that you and the Chuckster have much adventure in your lives nowadays. And I'm finally glad there's someone else in the family adventurous enough to go on these trips with me."

Sarah looks down and runs a hand through the cool, clear water.

_Family_.

She has to agree with him. As wonderful as the Bartowskis are, the events this past May drained the adventurousness right out of them. And it's good to finally feel like part of a family again.

She turns to look at her companion. "So what do you say? Race you to the next rapids?"

Awesome gives her a knowing smile. "Love to, if the next rapids didn't have a waterfall at the end. What do _you_ say, little sis? You brave enough to go over?"

"I don't know, Devon. Where would you put this waterfall, on a scale of 'slightly annoying computer hackers' to 'secret factions of the intelligence community with plans for world domination'?"

Shrugging, he begins to paddle again and replies, "Maybe . . . Icelandic intelligence with a penchant for crossbows."

"Chuck told you about that, huh?" Sarah asks with a laugh, paddling alongside him.

"Uh-huh."

"Well," she tells him cheekily, "I've had worse."

"Indeed you have, sis," he intones. Raising his voice enthusiastically, he asks, "Now what do you say?"

Laughingly, she answers, "I say, 'Bring it on!'"

It's their silly little battle cry, but it suits them, gets their blood pumping in anticipation. The falls come into sight as they round a bend in the river, and Sarah realizes that she likes this kind of adrenaline better.

**It's so easy to get caught up in what I'm regretting  
Forget what I got from a wounded heart**

Sarah hasn't played softball since her days at Harvard, but it comes back to her easily, like jumping in a pool after not swimming for years and gliding through the water as if you've been swimming every day from dusk to dawn.

It only takes a moment for her to realize how much she's missed it. Missed the feel of the laces beneath her fingertips, missed the tangy scent of leather from her glove, missed the salt of the requisite sunflower seeds.

And she's missed being part of a team. CIA work, even with a partner, is lonely. It's every agent for himself, and even being on Team Chuck never really made her feel part of a team. Part of something larger than herself, yes, but never a real team. Until now, there were always too many lies, too much deceit keeping their trio separated.

One of the outfielders lets out a cheer as they makes the final out of the inning, and Sarah trots in from first base. When she looks over to where Chuck and Devon are sitting in the first base bleachers, Devon lets out a whistle. As she makes it to the bench, she taps gloves with Ellie, who's just come in from left field.

"Nice inning," Ellie compliments her.

"Thanks," Sarah smiles, taking a gulp from her water bottle. "And thanks, Ellie, for inviting me to play."

"Oh! We're so glad to have you. Every team's got their ringer, and you're ours now," she says with a laugh.

Mackenzie, the shortstop, overhears and says, "Yeah, now that you've proven your worth, I'm afraid we'll never let you go!"

"We expect you at every game from now on," Ellie smiles. "Think you can do that?"

Sarah, whose schedule has lately been thrown wide open, likes the notion of occupying her evenings with recreational softball games, drinks, laughter, friends. She grins. "Yeah, I think I can do that."

Mac gives her a friendly slap her on the shoulder. "Good. Because you're in the hole and we need some runs."

**I'm the one who likes Gardenia  
I'm the one who likes to make love on the floor  
I don't want to hang up the phone yet  
It's been good  
Getting to know me more**

The library's a lot more lively than Sarah expects. She remembers being nine years old and walking to the public library a few blocks away, remembers the hush that would descend upon her as she opened those great oak doors, remembers holding back sneezes as she cracked a book and dust rose into the air so as not to awaken the wrath of the librarians. But here, today, a warmth spreads through her as she takes in the bright atmosphere.

There are groups of people clustered at tables, heads together as they study. There's a children's story time commencing in the "Little Readers'" room, the wizened librarian perched in an oversized rocking chair, the kids' eyes wide with rapt attention. There's a younger librarian near the stacks, gesturing as he introduces groups of summer school students to the joy that is research.

She snaps out of her daze when she hears her name. Alex is already at the counter and waiting for her. Offering a sheepish smile, she clutches her book and steps up beside the younger woman.

Alex turns to the librarian behind the desk. "We're here for the book club?"

"Oh, yes," the gray-haired woman replies. "Up the stairs and to your left."

"Thank you," Alex offers with a friendly smile.

The group, which turns out to consist of four women and three men, is friendly and welcoming. It's a young adult book club (the regular adult one meets on Wednesday nights), so most of the members are between Alex and Sarah in age. But they're all so enthusiastic that she can't help but recall sitting in tenth grade lit and listening to Mr. Everdeen act out scenes from Thomas Hardy novels in front of the class.

Out of all her recent hobbies, this one was Alex's suggestion. She suspects that Casey put her up to it, both for Alex to get to know her dad's former partner (and current friend) and for Sarah to get out of the house. With so much free time on her hands now that she and Chuck are no longer fully and officially employed by the agency, Sarah's been at a loss for what to do with her life. Her job is to train Morgan, make him spy ready, but, with his cover job at the Buy More still in operation, that still only takes up ten or so hours a week. After working herself to the bone for the CIA for over a decade, she's putting off the job search for a few months. She has enough money saved up so that she doesn't have to rely on Chuck's uneven income from his software company, still finding its feet.

And now she's got enough time to get to know herself, the real Sarah Walker, because that's who she thinks of herself as. She's always been 'Sarah' for Chuck, never anything else. And, since the only thing she is - and always will be - certain of is her love for him, then she will always be just 'Sarah.'

"So, Sarah," begins Sean, the group leader, pulling her out of her reverie, "what did you think of the book? What struck you about it?"

Almost nervous, she looks down at the book in her hand, _The Scarlet Pimpernel_. She's sorry to say that she hasn't had much opportunity to read for pleasure for a long, long time now, but this happens to be a most excellent book to reintroduce her to the world of books.

After a deep breath, she looks around the small circle and says, "I was struck . . . by the point of view, I think. A lot of 'spy' stories are from the perspective of the spy, but I really liked that she focused more on the relationship between the two main characters than the action. That's what drew me in, the characters and their relationships, especially Marguerite's dilemma, the position she's put in to choose between her husband and her brother."

She ends with a small sigh, and is relieved when Jennifer immediately picks up the thread of conversation. "Yes, I completely agree. It's a much more compelling story because we're treated to the viewpoint of a character who may, if someone else were telling the story, be seen as immoral or unforgiveable."

Alex offers Sarah a smile as the conversation takes off, and she sits back in her chair, content to simply take in the situation for a while. She's unused to being in the company of people who value her thoughts and ideas, but she finds that it's quite a pleasant place to be.

**I've been seeing all my old friends in the city  
Walking alone in Central Park**

Out of all the hobbies she's tried her hand at lately, she thinks she may like this best.

She's always known Casey to be knowledgeable about things, but he so rarely lets on to anyone that, for the past three years, she had no idea how fond of cars he was. Of course, everyone knows how much he loves that stupid Crown Victoria, but she always just assumed it was the Cop Face in him. She never expected him to harbor a passion for all things with four wheels and an engine.

After their initial antagonism, they've gotten along quite well. In fact, she's enjoyed working with him more than with any other partner she's had. Now that she's seen what she's seen of her world, all the bad and all the good, and learned what she's been able to learn about him, she counts the opportunity to be able to call John Casey one of her closest friends as one of the honors of her life.

Sometimes he puts the radio on low, but more often than not, they simply work without talking. They've come to realize that it's just their way, that silence is the status quo of their friendship. His request for a tool is a simple grunt, and she's able to interrupt exactly which he means. At first, right after she and Chuck had left the agency, she'd worried that she would lose whatever rapport she'd slowly and steadily built with Casey. But now, as she becomes his eager pupil in elementary mechanics, she realizes that their friendship hasn't disappeared, just transformed. A different version of the same thing, what Chuck would call an avatar, maybe.

That's another reason she so enjoys this work - Casey puts no demands on her. The Bartowskis are amazing, undoubtedly, but it's hard to disappoint a man who is as broken as you are. And, she thinks - hopes, really - that these quiet, easy sessions help the two of them, the two broken spy souls, to gradually heal.

They're halfway through rebuilding the engine when Ellie announces she's expecting, and Sarah learns of another of Casey's secret hobbies - carpentry. All of a sudden, they can't work on the car anymore, at his insistence. Since this all began, she's noticed that her partner's had an unusual fondness for Ellie, which is why, she thinks, the news of her pregnancy makes him drop everything and change gears.

They no longer work on the car, built for speed, for power, a machine designed for individuality and freedom. Instead, their new task is a crib. It's a simple design, but sturdy and effective. And they could all use some sturdiness in their lives right now.

They fill the garage with power tools, planks of wood, sawdust, and a mutual, unconditional affection for the Bartowski clan. They work in the same manner as they did on the car, and, within a week, they're able to present the Woodcombs with a handsome cedar crib. For the first time since May, since everyone she's come to care about saw her as she truly was, she feels like she's finally contributing to the family.

**Doing all the things that I've neglected  
Traded 'em all in  
To be in your arms**

Chuck walks into the living room just as Morgan's attaching the elf tips to her ears. He freezes in the doorway, hand still on the knob.

"Chuck!" Sarah greets happily, ignoring the incredulity on his face. "I didn't think you'd be home so soon."

He's been putting in late hours at the new company in an effort to get it off the ground, often coming home just in time for a very late meal.

"I can see that," he says. Holding up a take-out bag, he adds, "I brought some dinner, but it looks like you've already got plans."

"Yeah," she answers, careful to not nod her head as Morgan finishes applying the synthetic ears. "We talked about it yesterday, remember?"

On her search for new hobbies, Morgan's next on her list of guides, and this is his chosen activity. She'd been a little concerned when he'd revealed her outfit, but she had given him full reign over this part of the project after all, and she can't take that back just because he selected an activity that requires fake ears.

Still staring at them, Chuck walks into the living room. "Yeah, you said you and Morgan were hanging out, but you didn't say that you were . . . What exactly _are_ you doing?"

"LARPing, bud!" Morgan answers enthusiastically. He's dressed like a knight, complete with sheath and broadsword, and his helmet and gauntlets are lying at the ready on the couch. His bearded face split into a grin, he says, "Remember, like we did in high school. And the _best part_ is that Sarah's already badass and I don't have to explain how combat works!"

"Great, buddy. That's . . . great," Chuck says as he gives his girlfriend a confused look.

Sarah picks up her bow and quiver before leaning over to kiss him on the cheek. "Sorry, Chuck, we have to go. I'll try to not stay out too late."

Chuck stands there, shaking his head, a look on his face like he absolutely can't fathom what's going on. Smirking at his expression, Sarah pats him on the cheek and follows Sir Morgan out the door.

Between her background in spying and Morgan's guidance, the rules are easy enough to pick up, and before she knows it, their team is kicking major fantasy butt. Morgan is already a pro because of his enthusiasm and knowledge base, and she brings a boost to their team's strategy skills. Even with fake weapons, Sarah finds that this silly game begins to fill the hole left in her heart by the spy world. It's unreal and entirely safe and incredibly ridiculous, but it's also strangely enjoyable. These people are all here to have _fun_, which is something she's still getting a grasp on.

And that's the reason she completely forgets about the man waiting for her at home and lets Sir Morgan keep her out until past two in the morning.**  
**

**I'm the one who likes Gardenia  
I'm the one who likes to make love on the floor  
I don't want to hang up the phone yet  
It's been good  
Getting to know me more**

Bow still clutched in her fist, Sarah tiptoes down the hallway and quietly opens the bedroom door. But there's no need for stealth, as Chuck's still sitting up in bed, reading a graphic novel by the light of the bedside lamp. She walks in and sets her paraphernalia down on the chair.

She's in the midst of removing her elf ears when he looks up and says, "I thought you might never be coming back."

Chuckling, Sarah sits down on the bed beside him. "What, you thought that I would run away with Sir Morgan and spend the rest of my days with pointy ears?"

He grins and rests a hand on her hip. "Something like that."

Stroking her thumb across his cheek, she fixes him with a challenging gaze and asks, only half-jokingly, "You're not mad, are you?"

Chuck pushes himself to a sitting position, pulls her against him, and laughs, "Are you kidding me? Morgan got you to dress like a slutty elf. Why would I be mad? Can you wear that for Halloween?"

She blushes as he bestows a kiss on her temple, but grabs a hold of his arm and, averting her gaze, replies, "I think, when we first quit, that we both thought we'd have more time to be together. But you've been working so much, and I've been . . . trying to figure myself out. I just hope you know why I'm doing this."

"Of course I do," he nods. With a characteristically lopsided smile, he adds, "Sarah, I know you need time to learn all those things about yourself that you should have learned growing up, or in your wild college years, or after college, when you're out on your own for the first time. You missed all that, and I understand. I just hope you remember that I'm always here, if you ever want someone to help you with the whole figuring out process."

She smiles softly and presses her forehead to his. "Chuck . . ." she murmurs quietly, "I may need time to find out what I like, but I've known for a long time now what I _love_."

A grin appears on his face, the one he gives her when he can't quite believe this life is real, and he tilts his head to sweetly capture her lips.

**Well, I hear my own voice  
Sounds so silly  
Keep on telling my story all around  
Everything I lost seems so different  
Well, this is how everybody gets found**

"All right, Chuckles," Devon booms as he holds a game card aloft, "for the lead, what is Sarah's favorite book?"

Ellie, Alex, and Morgan let out simultaneous groans, because, since they last played this game a few months ago, Chuck and Sarah have gotten _much_ better at it.

"No, that question's too easy!" Morgan protests.

Devon laughs. "Nothing I can do about it, little buddy. Weren't you the one who shuffled?"

Sarah ignores all the hubbub to write her answer on her white board. When she looks up, Chuck's ready with his as well.

"Easy-peasy," he says with a smile and flips his board around. "_The Scarlet Pimerpnel_."

Sarah's return grin informs everyone that he's got it right before she even turns her board around to reveal the same answer.

"Nice job, Chuck," Sarah laughs as he lifts his arms in the air and lets out a whoop.

"All right, we're in the lead!" he yells, leaning over the coffee table to bestow a quick kiss on her lips.

"Yeah, yeah," Morgan grouses, "just remember it's something you've never seen before! And once Alex and I get a chance, we'll make sure you never see it again!"

Alex just rolls her eyes as laughter fills the living room. Sarah looks over at Chuck, a shy smile gracing her lips, and feels a blush rise to her cheek when he meets her gaze. He doesn't say anything, but sometimes simply the deep expression in those brown eyes is more eloquent than any words he can utter.

Even without a word passing between them, she knows what he's saying, knows what he's felt all along - that this is where she belongs, that, among the people gathered in this room, she's found who she's truly meant to be.


	45. Here's Everything I've Always Meant

Song: "Here's Everything I've Always Meant to Say," by JamisonParker

A/N: This was meant to go up two weeks ago, for the premiere, but my life is crazy busy right now! I never thought it'd be as busy as it was in college, but post-college life is not as exciting as it's made out to be, lol.

This chapter is dedicated to my good friend, **wickedinsanity**, because everyone needs a chapter dedicated to them every once in a while, and because she puts up with all my _Chuck _and _Merlin_ enthusiasm. :)

So who's enjoying S4 so far? :D

* * *

Chuck Bartowski rushes into the conference room, his curls bouncing as he skids to a stop in front of his new bosses and colleagues.

"Sorry, uh, sorry," he apologizes quickly, throwing a glance around his colleagues seated around the table. Stern-faced and silent, they regard him imperiously. Hastily, he removes his messenger bag and takes the only remaining seat.

The man at the head of the table, whom Chuck recognizes as Agent Duncan, rolls his eyes. "Agent Bartowski," he glowers, "you're late."

Chuck offers a contrite smile as he catches his breath. "Yeah, sorry about that. This place is hard to get around. The hallways are so . . . twisty." No one laughs, and he deflates a bit under the glares. "All right," he chuckles softly, "shutting up now."

"Thank you," Duncan says gruffly. "Now, if you don't mind, we'll get on with the presentation." He holds a hand out to a blonde woman sitting beside him. "Agent Walker."

Chuck feels his breath catch in his chest. He's only been working for the agency for a little over a year now, but it's been long enough to hear about Sarah Walker. She's so famous within the agency that even the analysts, so secluded from and ostracized by 'real' spies, know about her. He used to be that guy sitting behind a desk, his biggest worry carpal tunnel as he sifted through false intelligence, erroneous information, and piles of irrelevant reports in search of patterns, in search of true knowledge.

One time, he was lucky enough to spot a pattern which turned into a mission which eventually got handed off to Walker. Despite his initial contribution, he'd had no further involvement with the assignment, but he'd been the envy of his fellow analysts for months, simply for getting that 'close' to her.

And now she's here, in the flesh, right there in front of him.

She's _gorgeous_. He's seen the photos, heard the reports, but nothing had prepared him for actually being in her presence. The sunlight streaming in through the window catches her hair perfectly, and she's got pale blue eyes that remind him of the ocean. Even in a black skirt, suit jacket, and heels, she could be _that_ girl - the one who lives next door and makes you dream of a life within reach; the one who walks into the Buy More, where he used to work, with a broken phone and a brilliant smile; the one who stands by your side as she encourages you to chase your dreams.

He's incapable of thinking, nearly incapable of breathing, as she rises from her chair and faces the room.

"Ladies and gentleman," she begins, a serious expression on her face, and he finds himself wondering how she changes when a smile lights her eyes, even how often she smiles. When she pauses to sweep her gaze around the table, he's almost certain that it rests a little longer on him than on anyone else. But then she averts her eyes and continues, "Welcome to Project Omaha."

**Just be in love  
And I'll kiss you like you've always wanted  
Just close your eyes  
I'll still live as if I'm dying**

Time stills as she walks through the door of the bar. Chuck freezes, his beer hovering in midair, and lets his eyes slide over to her. She's in tight, dark jeans and a blue blouse with little buttons, and her blonde hair falls in gentle waves around her shoulders.

He gulps, shakes his head to regain his sanity, but he's not the only one who notices her. A crop of their fellow agents, fresh from the farm, hovers near the end of the bar. They've all got dark hair and chiseled jaw lines and fancy suits. They're the kind of guys thatwho, as a new recruit, he'd dreamed of becoming - suave and arrogant, the guy whom nobody dares refuse. They remind him of his old college roommate in a way, Bryce Larkin. But now, sitting across the bar, he sees them as they truly are, just actors in a fanciful game.

Assuming she'll linger by the Bryce Larkin clones, he turns his attention back to the two other analysts, Felicia and Neil, sitting at his table. Though they initially latched together because they're working together and simply spend a majority of their time together, they became fast friends. Over the past month, as he's adjusted to actually being on an assignment as important as this one, he's realized how much he's needed friendship. The pair even reminds him of Morgan and Anna back home, which keeps him sensible whenever he thinks he's starting to miss them too much. Neil cracks a joke about the clones, and laughter ripples around the table.

"Is this seat taken?"

The group's laughter comes to an abrupt halt.

He looks up in surprise to find the one and only Sarah Walker standing in front of him, a beer in one hand and the other resting on the back of the chair.

She's smiling, and the effect gives her beauty warmth, lends softness to her edges.

"Hi!" he greets, cursing the way his voice rises in pitch when he's nervous. He can already feel his palms begin to sweat. "Hi there! Uh . . ."

He glances over to his companions in the hopes that one of them will rescue him from his awkwardness, and, blessedly, Felicia steps up to bat.

Smiling amiably at Sarah, she says, "No, that seat's free. Why don't you join us?"

"Thank you," she replies, sliding gracefully into the chair adjacent to Chuck.

There's silence for a moment, slightly tense, before Neil grins and asks, "So, is this an intimidation thing? You know, see how uncomfortable you can make the noobs?"

Sarah lifts a brow, like she doesn't quite understand. "Um, no. This is just an 'it's Friday night and I wanted to get away from work' thing."

"Well," Chuck smiles, "we're honored you chose our table."

Neil nods his head vigorously. "Yeah, we figured you'd be over there with the clones."

"'The clones'?" Sarah chuckles.

"That's what we call the field agents," Felicia clarifies, "because they're all the same. No imagination."

"None whatsoever," Neil adds with a disappointed shake of his head.

Sarah, tilting her head slightly, looks over to the clone group. "Huh," she murmurs, "I never thought about it like at."

Chuck realizes he's been staring at her this whole time and quickly averts his eyes, taking another sip of beer. Felicia's gaze flickers between him and Sarah.

She clears her throat and says, "Anyone in need of another round? Neil, you look like you're in need of a refill."

"Oh, yeah. Thanks. Could you just get me another beer please?" he asks.

Felicia's eyes widen at him as she says, "Actually, why don't you come with me? After all, isn't it your turn to pay?"

"Oh, um . . . " He purses his lips, looks at Chuck and Sarah, and then says, "Yeah. Of course. Another round coming right up!"

And, before he can protest, they turn and head for the bar, leaving him with just Sarah for company. He's never been alone with her, never had a non-work-related conversation. Nervously, he taps his fingers on the table top.

"So," she says, a tiny smile quirking the corners of her lips, "Chuck . . ."

"Yeah, that's me," he replies, trying hard to not devolve into uneasy, high-pitched laughter.

"I didn't realize people still named their kids 'Chuck.'"

He looks up quickly, in time to catch the teasing sparkle in her eyes. He could lose himself in those eyes, would willingly do so.

Shrugging, he responds, "What can I say? My parents were sadists."

"Well, even if that were true, they can't have been worse than mine."

She says it jokingly, but he thinks he detects a hint of truth behind her words. "Okay, so mine gave me a horrible name? What'd yours do?"

Contemplating, she takes a sip of beer. "My mother left us when I was nine, taking my baby sister with her, and my father was a con artist who taught me everything he knows." She lets the information hover, trying to gauge his reaction, before adding, "So now you know - I'm a reformed con artist with daddy issues. I fit the profile to a T, don't I?"

She chuckles softly, as if to off-set the seriousness of her confession, but Chuck shakes his head. In his mind, the profile of a typical female CIA agent is gorgeous, agile, confident. And Sarah is all of that, but more. He can't quite put his finger on what makes her so amazing, but there's a stirring fullness that sinks into him when he's around her, that makes him wonder what's lurking beneath the surface she presents to the world.

"I'm pretty sure you're not one to adhere to profiles."

As soon as the words have escaped his mouth, he wants to kick himself but settles for merely grimacing. He's not cool and suave, will never be a ladies' man. Instead of laughing at him, as he expects, she meets his gaze and offers him a shy smile. He's struck by the possibility that, beneath the badass CIA agent, Sarah Walker could maybe be _shy_.

"Thank you, Chuck," she tells him. "So, what's _your_ story?"

He purses his lips. "You're co-head of this project. Are you really telling me you don't already know?"

To her credit, she doesn't balk under his challenge. "Maybe I'd like to hear it from you."

"Okay, sure," he nods. "Got recruited in college. Right after I got recruited, my girlfriend slept with my best friend, so I dealt with it the best way I knew how - by throwing myself into work. Well, there were a few all-night _Legend of Zelda_ gaming sessions, but when aren't there? And then I spent a year pushing papers at the local office, where, I assume, I did well enough to impress enough people or maybe just the right person. Which is how I ended up here." Sarah laughs softly, prompting him to ask, "What? What's so funny?"

Gazing at him, incredulity in her eyes, she shakes her head and asks, "You do realize the gravity of your placement here, right? Only the best were picked for this."

Chuck sobers. "Really?"

"Come on, you had to have realized. Out of everyone on this project, you've by far got the least experience, and yet not only are you here, but you're heading up your own team. You think every 24-year-old analyst gets to do that?"

A blush rises to his cheeks. He takes a sip of beer and then says, "Well, that explains why you're here, at least." When she quirks a brow, he elucidates, "Everyone says you're the best." She looks away, looks around the bar, has nothing to say to that. Chuck shakes his head. "And I believe that. I mean, you're my age and yet you've been in this business for years now, you're the head of a major project, and everyone here is scared to death of you."

Still no reaction.

"So if all that's true," he continues, "then why do you hate it here?"

Sarah's attention quickly returns to him. "Who told you that?" she asks nonchalantly.

"No one," he shrugs. "I can just tell."

She frowns slightly, and doesn't answer for a moment as she twirls her beer bottle around. Then she says, "I miss field work, but the CIA is my life. It's what I'm meant for."

She takes a gulp of beer, and he finds his eyes locked on her. The life of a spy is a hard, lonely one, a life he wouldn't wish upon anyone. That she feels so at home in that sort of existence is inexpressibly sad, but he doesn't say anything. Sarah Walker isn't the sort of woman who takes well to pity.

**If I don't make your heart skip a beat  
Then hate me  
If I don't make you feel anything  
Then it's me**

The thing about Sarah Walker is that, even after he's spent so long hearing what others have said about her, she manages to prove all the rumors wrong. After that night at the bar, they start to spend more time together away from work, and even at work, he notices that she lingers by his office when she used to simply get a daily update and leave, that she stands nearby when she used to simply stand at the far end of the room.

She's a loner, and yet, seemingly unconsciously, she latches onto him, a bit hesitantly, as if, after years of relying on herself, she still wary about trusting another. But even with all the misgiving he reads in her looks, she still comes around again and again. First it's just drinks at their bar, then it's full-blown dinners out, until it turns into friendly invitations, and they're spending entire weekends in each other's company, and she's coming over to his apartment for day-long science fiction movie marathons.

One Friday night, after they've just watched five straight episodes of _Battlestar_ _Galactica_, she's chuckling as she sets down her beer bottle and says, "Maybe I should stop hanging out with you. If I keep letting you introduce me to these shows, I'm going to turn into a geek."

"Excuse me," he says, pretending to be affronted, "we prefer the term 'nerd.'"

"Oh, I'm sorry - _nerd_, then."

He shakes his head, but feels his laughter fading as he realizes how close she is. They're both on the couch, which is a normal occurrence these days, but he's unprepared for the burst of grapefruit shampoo that assaults his nose as she leans over to set her beer on the coffee table. When she resumes her place, her eyes lock with his, and she's as frozen as he is. He licks his lips nervously, barely able to suck in a breath.

"You know," he begins quietly, "if you're so anxious to not turn into a nerd, sometimes I wonder why you hang out with me at all. There are a dozen James Bond types you could be with right now."

She gives a tiny nod, her gaze flicking between his eyes. Resting an elbow on the back of the couch, she leans her head on her hand and says, "Exactly. A dozen. But only one Chuck Bartowski."

Hesitantly, he ventures, "My last relationship ended badly."

She shrugs, tilts her head a fraction of an inch closer. "And I'm lousy at relationships in general."

"I could turn you into a socially awkward nerd."

"I could turn you into a cold-hearted spy."

She's so close now that he can feel her puff of breath on his skin, right below his nose.

"Maybe this is a horrible idea."

"Maybe it's a great one."

The last thing his mind registers before she kisses him and banishes all coherent thought is how the blue of her eyes reminds him of the summer sky.

**I just want you to feel beautiful  
For once in your life  
I just want you to feel beautiful  
For once in your life**

Chuck drums his fingers on the desk, drums through his agitation in time with "Do You Believe In Love?" that's blasting from the boom box in the corner. Felicia stares at the computer screen, biting her nails and jiggling her leg, while Neil, clutching his fourth Red Bull, paces in circles around the room. They've been working for nearly 36 hours straight, and they're wired on caffeine and anticipation. This project, already so revolutionary, could have so much more potential than original planned, and simply thinking about how many possibilities they're about to tap into just ups his anxiety.

But they'll have to wait for the test results, and then approval from the director, and, even after that, they're still not sure if this will be feasible, or practical, or worth their while.

Someone clears their throat, and Chuck jumps in his chair. Recovering his senses, he gets quickly to his feet and turns around to see Gretchen, one of the junior agents, standing in the doorway.

"Excuse me," she says shyly, "Agent Bartowski, Agent Walker would like to see you in her office."

"Uh, sure," he says, standing up quickly to follow her.

When they reach Sarah's office, Gretchen waves him inside. His smile fades when he sees her sitting at the head of the small conference table, Agent Duncan, a stern-looking African American male, and a red-headed woman in a military uniform sitting around her.

"Uh, Agent Walker, Agent Duncan," Chuck stammers, clasping his hands together in front of him, "you, uh, you wanted to see me?"

Here, in the office, Sarah's all business. There's a slight frown creasing her brow when she replies, "We've been informed that you've experienced some unexpected progress with the Intersect."

The way she says it lets him know just how important this is, to her, to Duncan, especially to the two unfamiliar faces at the table. He can feel his palms start to sweat, but he takes a deep breath and forces himself to calm down. Looking Sarah in the eye to avoid the stern looks from the three, he tells them, "Well, with all due respect, the Intersect is a fascinating project. It has the potential to be a huge boon to national security if - "

"Agent Bartowski," the red head interrupts, "we know all this already."

"Of course, of course, I'm sorry," he apologizes. "But what I'm saying is that it doesn't have to end with the initial plans you had for it." The unfamiliar male leans in, suddenly interested, which makes Chuck gulp nervously to prevent his mouth from going so dry that he can no longer talk. "See, a computer can recognize patterns, but it can't necessarily make decisions based on the information it's gathering. However, my team and I believe that the Intersect computer has given us the building blocks to allow the same basic process to take place within the human brain. If we can transfer it, if we can put it in the right spy, he or she could put together all the information as they're taking in the stimuli _and_ be able to make a split-second decision based on what the computer has compiled."

He purses his lips and allows a moment for the ramifications of this plan to sink in.

"An implant, you mean?" Duncan asks.

Chuck shakes his head. "More like . . . an upload."

"Bartowski," the darker man addresses in a deep, guttural voice, "do you realize what this means?"

Yes. It means superspies. It means soldiers for the government. It means selling his soul until he can provide those. But he's seen the potential for this computer, and he can't just ignore that.

"Wait," Sarah interrupts before he can reply. It's the first time he's seen her dare to be anything but perfectly subordinate in front of her superiors. Her pale blue eyes rise to meet his. "There's something else. What are you not telling us, Agent Bartowski?"

He locks gazes with Sarah, amazed at how attuned she is to his nuances. There's worry in her eyes, but trust as well.

"Well?" the redhead prompts, and he swiftly turns his attention to her.

Clearing his throat, Chuck nods and says, "Yes, there is something else actually. I don't think we're limited to information."

The redhead's eyes narrow in curiosity. "The Intersect is about information. What is it that you're referring to?"

Chuck, hands gripping the chair back in front of him, takes a deep breath. "I think we can add abilities as well."

**Just close your eyes  
And I'll kiss you like there's no tomorrow**

Chuck walks into the living room, balancing his phone between his ear and shoulder, two sodas in one hand, and two plates of pizza in the other. Sarah, already kicking back on the couch for another of their marathons, looks more at home than he's ever seen her. She quickly takes half his burden from him and raises a questioning eyebrow.

"Ellie," he mouths before plopping down beside her and switching on the speaker phone. "Hey, El," he says, addressing his sister on the line, "Sarah's here, too."

"Oh, hey, Sarah!" Ellie squeals.

Chuck rolls his eyes. Ever since his sister found out about Sarah, she's been dying to meet her, even though they've conversed via phone more than he's completely comfortable with.

Sarah laughs, "Hey, Ellie! How's LA?"

"Same as usual. How's DC?"

"Cold," Sarah replies with a feigned shiver.

"See? It's a sign! You should come visit us!"

Chuck, laughing, interjects, "I told you, El, we're trying to get off for Christmas."

"Oh, but that's so far away. Can't you get off any sooner?"

Chuck quirks his brows at Sarah, who says with a shrug, "I don't know. Your bro's kind of a wunderkind around here. They won't let him go, even for a day."

Ellie clicks her tongue. "As amazing as that is, Chuck, and as proud of you as Devon and I are, we would really love to see you soon."

"All right," he smiles, "we'll try to pull some strings to get off for Thanksgiving. But only for you, El."

"You're the best, Chuck! Devon and Morgan and I are really looking forward to meeting you, Sarah."

"Same here," Sarah tells her quietly.

"All right," Ellie sighs, "you two have a good evening. I'll talk to you again soon, and don't you think I'll forget about your promise to come for Thanksgiving!"

Chuck laughs softly, bids his sister good night, and hangs up the phone. Throwing a sideways glance at his companion, he poses, "So . . . _do_ you have any plans for the holiday?"

"Chuck Bartowski," she drawls, a smirk playing over her lips, "are you asking me to spend Thanksgiving with you and your family?"

He considers teasing her, but then he remembers that Sarah Walker is the type of girl who has maybe never been invited to a friend's house for a holiday dinner, who has definitely never been invited to become part of the family. So he leans a little closer and says, "Yes. I would be delighted if you came with me for Thanksgiving. And, as you already heard, so would Ellie. Besides, you haven't met Morgan yet."

"Oh, in that case, I'd love to come. My life will not be complete until I meet Morgan Grimes."

"Good," he smiles, turning back to the TV. He flips on the _Firefly_ DVD he's already popped in, but can still feel her eyes on him. She does this sometimes, studies him as if he will disappear the next instant. He's yet to figure out why.

"What?" he queries. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

"Like what?" she retorts. "I'm not allowed to look at you anymore?"

"It's just . . . never mind," he chuckles, deciding to simply let it go. If he pushes, he'll only end up pushing her away. Whatever it is, she'll confide in him in time.

Instead, she pops open the lid of her soda and murmurs, "You're a great guy, you know that?"

Muting the TV, Chuck turns toward her. "Hey, how many times do I have to tell you you're the best person I know? . . . Who's not related to me, that is."

Sarah gives a little chuckle at his amendment, then leans her head against his shoulder. "Always one more time."

And he's starting to see that Sarah, for all her outward confidence and devastatingly cool demeanor, is more than a little bit broken. 

**If I don't make your heart skip a beat  
Then hate me  
If I don't make you feel anything  
Then it's me**

Chuck, lips pursed in frustration, lets his head fall into his hands. Felicia stands in the back of the room, eyes focused straight ahead, and Neil, crashing from his Red Bull binge, is sitting in the corner, softly knocking his head against the plain white wall.

And Sarah . . . Sarah stands at the front of the observation room, hands on her hips as she contemplates their failure.

They're a tableaux of disappointment.

He sits in agony, waiting for her wrath to descend. They've spent countless hours on this project, all the while with Duncan and the heads of the CIA and NSA breathing down their necks. He never wants to let her down, but this Intersect project is proving to be more than he can handle.

"Seven," Sarah finally says, her voice low and quiet.

One word is all she has to say to instill an acute sense of failure within all three of them. All this work, all this time, and all they've managed to accomplish is destroying the lives of seven promising agents. They had seemed perfect on paper, all of them, but the Intersect had simply overwhelmed their brains. They're faced with the proof of this in Stevens, huddled in the corner of his small holding cell, a stream of drool running from the corner of his mouth, a vacant look in his eyes.

Chuck's only consolation, and a small one at that, is that none of them had a family.

"I don't understand," he says to no one in particular. "It _should_ work."

Because it very much should. There's nothing wrong with the Intersect itself, which leads him to believe that it's more a problem with who's receiving it.

"Agent McGrath," Sarah says, and Felicia's head snaps up in attention, "walk with me."

Sarah strolls determinedly out of the room. Felicia has no choice but to follow, sparing a glance at her two teammates before she goes. 

**I just want you to feel beautiful  
For once in your life  
I just want you to feel beautiful  
For once in your life**

Sarah's a restless sleeper. He figured this out quite quickly, and just as quickly became attuned to it, became sensitized to waking up whenever she left his side. Tonight, the sheets are still warm when he opens his eyes to an empty bed. With a sigh, he pushes the covers away and scrambles out of bed, the hardwood floor cold on his bare feet.

He finds her in the living room, sitting on the couch with her knees pulled up as she stares at the ashes in the fireplace. Dropping onto the cushion beside her, he hooks an arm around her knees and follows her gaze. She turns to look at him, but he keeps quiet. He's learning that it's sometimes better to let her meet him halfway. She's silent, slipping her fingers into his.

After a few moments, she finally says, "I'm sorry for waking you up."

He leans toward her, shakes his head. "Don't be; I don't mind." He may be learning that it's better not to push, but that doesn't mean he can completely disregard his curious and worrying nature. Doing his best to hide the anxiety in his voice, he asks, "Is this about the project?"

"Why would you think that?"

Shrugging, he replies, "It's just, this is the third time in a week you haven't been able to sleep. I figured it must be work-related. Wanna tell me about it?"

Sarah frowns, a crease appearing in the middle of her brow, stretches out her legs, and rests them across his lap. "After much discussion and debate -"

"Including a consultation of Felicia?" he interrupts.

"Yes," she nods, "it was necessary."

"You couldn't talk to me? I'm the head of the team."

"Chuck," she says with an exasperated shake of her head, "it's because it was _about_ you."

His eyes narrow. "About me? Why?"

She drops her gaze, swallows thickly. "Beckman and Graham, they want me to get you to agree to take the upload."

"What do you mean, 'get me to agree'?"

Sarah purses her lips as she looks up at him. "Any means necessary, they said."

The breath nearly goes out of him. "Seduction, you mean?" When she nods, he asks, "Then why are you telling me this? Why not just follow your orders?"

Distractedly, she twists his fingers in her own. "You really don't get it?"

He thinks he does, maybe, hopes it isn't simply his imagination. Maybe he's finally given Sarah Walker something more important than this job. He leans over to cup her face, thumb gently stroking her cheek, and asks, "Why do they want me to take the upload?"

"The same reason you were able to make the Intersect work in the first place," she breathes. "You're special, Chuck. It's all over your scores at Stanford, all over the work you do now. You could be the only one able to handle the upload."

"And what if I'm not?" She stays silent, but he can tell from just the look on her face that it's this possibility that terrifies her. He clears his throat quietly. "What do you think?"

"It's your decision."

"Maybe _you_ don't get it, Sarah," he chuckles softly. "This is _our_ decision now. What affects me, affects you. And I'm not about to do anything without making sure you're entirely okay with it, you got that?" She nods, and he presses a soft kiss to her lips. "You know what I think?" he asks her.

"What do you think?" she replies, curling a hand into his neck and resting her head against his shoulder.

"I think, for all those other agents, this job was their life. And if they had to sacrifice themselves to help the cause, then they're willing - even happy - to. But Sarah, I've got something to live for beyond that." Closing his eyes, he sets his cheek against her head. "So I think I stand a pretty good chance of getting through this, if only because I'll be determined to get back to you."

"You want to do this then?"

He sighs. "Well, maybe we should think it over for a few more days."

**So sleep now, so deep in static  
Drifting in the shadows**

It's autumn in DC, and yet everyone around Chuck is wearing sunglasses. No one will look him in the eye as they strap his wrists to the arms of the test chair and go about with their preparations. Even the blank white walls are threatening enough to plant their seeds of doubt. What confidence he had been able to muster drains right out of him at the empty looks on his colleagues' faces. But he believes in his team, believes they've got it right this time.

If only his palms would stop sweating.

But then Sarah strides into the room, and her gaze immediately falls upon his. He realizes how pathetic he looks, knows he's silently pleading to anyone who will just look at him, but she's not wearing sunglasses, or pity, and that knowledge buoys him.

"Is everything ready?" she asks authoritatively.

One of the technicians nods. "Yes, ma'am."

Eyes still on him, she flicks her head toward the door. "Give us a moment."

Obediently, they file out the door. Sarah, arms crossed, waits impatiently for the last one to disappear and shut the door before she approaches him.

"Sarah," he chokes out, suddenly terrified of a world in which he can't recognize her, can't recall the melody of her laugh or the way she curls up against him in her sleep. He doesn't want to lose the only good thing he's ever known.

She kneels in front of him and, in an unprecedented display of affection coming from Sarah Walker, grabs a hold of his left hand with both of hers.

"Hey, Chuck," she says quietly, "how're you doing?"

It's a testament to her strength that she doesn't try to offer him platitudes or empty assurances. The fact that she's here, with him, is what maters, and he draws strength simply from her presence. He simply nods, not trusting himself to speak without disclosing the depths of his feelings.

"What can I do?" she asks, fingers tightly gripping his.

He swallows. "If anything happens, I need you to tell Ellie." Fear leaps into her blue eyes, but he presses on. "I don't want to put you this position, believe me, but I need it to come from someone she knows, someone she trusts. So . . . c-can you?"

Sarah nods. "Of course. Your sister deserves to know that you're a hero." Abruptly, she leans up, grasps his face between her palms, and rests her forehead against his. "Always remember that, Chuck Bartowski. _You_ are a _hero_."

In spite of the circumstances, he's able to take a deep, calming breath and offer her a small smile.

"Sarah Walker," he says, his throat tight with emotion, "you are going to be the last thought in my mind, whether the end comes today or a million days from now."

"It's going to be a million," she tells him, "and I'm going to be at your side through them all. Got it?"

He nods again, and she presses a long, desperate kiss to his lips. It's her final gift to him, a moment in which he can imagine a future - a picket fence, softball games and math competitions, Sunday morning pancakes, a dog named Peaches - all from the taste of strawberries on her tongue.

And then, before he can come back to his senses, she's already up and almost to the door. Her palm on the handle, she pauses, looks back, and murmurs, "I love you, Chuck," before vanishing through the door.

He lets out his breath in a long, slow _whoosh_ and prepares himself for the upload. Right before the room goes dark and the images start to flash on the screen before him, he finds that the only thing he can think of is Sarah Walker.

**Hold me close  
To the glow of headlights and TV screens**

He feels Sarah shiver beside him as they walk hand-in-hand through the courtyard.

"You all right?" he queries, pausing to scrutinize her.

She smiles. "Yeah, just . . . nervous, I guess."

Returning her smile, he runs his hands up and down her arms. "You've got nothing to be nervous about. They're gonna love you."

Sarah smiles, but looks distractedly over his shoulder. "Hey," she says, taking his hands and leading him across the courtyard, "the apartment next door's for sale."

And there's a tiny little gleam in her eye that makes him wonder where this is all going. After all, with his successful upload of the Intersect, the CIA and NSA have offered him more than he ever imagined. He'll have his own team, his own project. He and Sarah haven't discussed basing the project in LA, but it's something to consider. Maybe she'd like it here. Maybe she'd like being around family.

He twists his lips contemplatively. "Wouldn't you miss DC?"

Her gaze focused on the apartment, she shrugs. "DC's not my home because I have an apartment there."

"No?" he grins. "Then why?"

He knows he's pushing her, but she hasn't stopped smiling. Finally letting her eyes rest on his, she tells him, "It's my home . . . because _you_ are."

"Well, LA, huh?" he murmurs, winding his arms around her waist. "So that means traffic and smog and no more northeast autumn, which I know you love."

She presses her hands to his chest and shrugs. "But it means family. Which trumps a whole lot of bad in my book."

As if on cue, the door opens and Ellie rushes out to greet them.

"I can't believe you made it!" she greets enthusiastically, crushing him into a hug.

Chuck laughs. "We promised, didn't we?"

"Yes, but I was so worried you wouldn't be able to get off of work. It wasn't difficult, was it?"

He throws a glance at his girlfriend, who manages to look innocent. After the upload, the first successful one for the project, Graham had personally given the entire team a week off.

"Of course not," Sarah answers for him. "We were excited to get the chance to come for a visit. I know Chuck really wanted to spend the holiday with you. And it's great to finally meet you." Her eyes go wide as Ellie captures her in an amiable hug.

The doctor grins. "It's so wonderful to finally meet you as well, Sarah. Come, come on in. We didn't know if you'd make it, so Devon and I decided that we'd have a quiet dinner this year, just the two of us."

"And now the four of us," Chuck smiles as they follow his sister inside.

Everything is pretty much as he remembers it. The apartment is homey, Ellie effusive, Devon awesome. The two welcome Sarah with literal open arms, which both amuses and slightly unnerves the hardened spy, so unused to expressing affection. But as the night goes on, she opens up, and watching Sarah Walker help his sister's boyfriend put the finishing touches on the turkey is a sight that warms his heart.

When they're finally gathered around the table, just the four of them, a family, Devon raises his glass and suggests a toast where each person says one thing for which they're thankful. Naturally, he starts. In his deep, resonant voice, he tells them, "I'm thankful for my beautiful Ellie, for making every holiday something to remember."

Ellie lets out a soft "aw" and Chuck is next. He can't say in front of Ellie and Devon that he's thankful for the Intersect not making him crazy, so instead he raises his glass to each of them in turn and says, "I'm thankful for all of you, because I wouldn't be the man I am today without your influence."

By now, Ellie looks like she's about to cry, but she swallows it down and says, "I'm thankful that we're all able to be together, because Chuck and I learned a long time ago that family is the most important thing in this world."

The Bartowski clan looks expectantly to Sarah, who keeps her gaze thoughtfully on the centerpiece as she chooses her words. A smile tugging at the corners of her mouth, she looks across the table at him and says, "I'm thankful for Chuck."

That's it. Because Sarah is Sarah, ever taciturn by nature. There's no 'because' or reason behind it, but he hears so much more as he looks into her clear blue eyes. He's known for a long time how good she is for him, but he's only recent realized how much he's done for her in turn.

Ellie beams. "Have I said how nice it is to have you here?"

Devon rolls his eyes good-naturedly. "Babe, I think you've told them twelve times already."

"Well," Chuck says, turning to his sister, "you may not have to worry about seeing us only at holidays for much longer."

"Chuck Bartowski," Ellie warns, looking as if she's about to burst with happiness. "Explain yourself right now."

Laughing, Sarah tells them, "We're thinking about asking for a transfer to LA."

**I just want you to feel beautiful  
For once in your life**

"Ooh, Sarah," Chuck sighs, reaching up to massage his shoulder as he drags his suitcase through the courtyard, "how about no more missions involving transportation by dumb waiter, okay? I don't think I'll ever get rid of this crick in my neck."

They've been at this for close to four years now. He loves it, but every once in a while he feels like they could use a break from the adrenaline rushes and the brushes with death, especially when he catches sight of the light on in Ellie and Awesome's living room, imagines the perfectly normal life they're living. As they pass the fountain, Sarah, a slight smile on her lips, slides an arm around his waist and leans against him.

Sounding just as tired, she replies, "Well, we may not be going on missions for a while, so you won't have to worry about that."

They're almost to the door before he comprehends, and when he finally does, the idea stops him in his tracks. He drops his suitcase and turns to stare at her.

"Are, are you serious? Sarah? Oh, my God, I love you."

Laughing, she loops her arms around him and pulls him close. "What do you think?" she asks. "Will Ellie and Awesome babysit for us?"

Chuck bursts into ecstatic laughter, lifts her up, and spins her around. "I think they'd be thrilled, but never as thrilled as I am in this moment. This is, oh my God, this is just . . . amazing, Sarah. Really amazing."

He touches her back down to the ground, foreheads touching, and she curls a fist against his neck.

"Love you, Chuck," she murmurs. "Always."

And his heart soars.


	46. Love Alone

Song: "Love Alone," Thriving Ivory

A/N: Whew! This is unbeta-ed, and may have a few typos or silly ideas because of that, and because I really, really, really wanted to get it out before New Year's. Since tomorrow and Saturday are going to be absolutely crazy, I tried super hard to finish it tonight! Let me know if you catch any glaring (but easily fixable, of course) errors. :)

Also, thanks to all of you who are still reading this! I know chapters are few and far between nowadays, and I apologize for that. I hope you enjoy this one though! It grew out of a request for a 19th-century fic that someone posted on the message board about, oh, two years ago? And I finally got around to it, haha.

I hope everyone's having a great holiday season!

**

* * *

I know it hurts, I know you're bruised  
But it's only on the inside  
I know you're lost, and you're confused  
Yeah, it's only on the inside  
I see you walk and you're dragging your feet  
But it's only for a moment  
Stuck in the part where you feel incomplete  
Yeah, it's only for a moment**

The clock and watch shop is inconspicuous, nearly invisible except to those looking for it, nestled as it is between the bookshop and a lawyer's office. It is only her second day in this city and yet Sarah Walker knows two things - that this is the best watch and clock repairman in Philadelphia (in fact, she's heard that he is a whiz with anything mechanical), and that he may be slightly mad. She is willing, however, to brave crazy theories and a little rambling insanity if it means getting John's father's pocket watch repaired.

Her eyes scanning the shop front, she ducks out of the crowded street and through the door, sending the bell above her head jingling. There's a young man sitting at the counter in the back, head bent as he studies something she can't make out, but he doesn't seem to notice her entrance. He has dark curly hair that is unkempt enough to give him a slightly wild appearance. She wishes she could see his face better, but he is too absorbed in his work to pay her any notice.

Luckily, someone in this shop apparently regards the bell, because a short, bearded man appears out of the back room as she approaches the counter. He stops at the sight of her, stops near his colleague, and says in an undertone, "Stop the presses. Who is that? Jane Bennet?"

The curly-haired man glances up, back down, and then up again in quick succession before dropping his tools, which clatter onto the floor. She seems to have finally caught his attention.

"How, uh, how can I help you, Miss . . ."

"Walker," she fills in for him with a smile. Withdrawing her adoptive brother's watch from the pocket of her coat, she sets it gingerly on the counter and informs him, "I'm here about this."

"Oh, yeah," he nods, relaxing as the conversation turns to work, something she can tell he is familiar and comfortable with. "The Waltham. It's an excellent watch, but there's one spring in it that can rust if it's not taken care of regularly. Let me just open it up here and see."

She peers between him and the watch as he begins to dissect it. After what she'd been told of him, she had expected an insane old man with a long, wild white beard and manic eyes. But this young man before her is simply nervous, a little eccentric perhaps, guilty only of being more comfortable with mechanical devices than with people. Maybe this isn't him at all. Maybe she ought to be certain.

"Excuse me," she interrupts, "are you Mr. Charles Bartowski?"

The watchmaker doesn't look up, concentrating as he is on his repair work. Instead, his friend answers, "Yep, that's him. Heard of him?"

"Yes, he was recommended to me." Speaking to Mr. Bartowski now, she says, "You're not what I expected though."

"I know, I know," the friend answers, nodding sagely. "They come in expecting squat and balding, and instead get us - charming and devilishly handsome."

Sarah lets out a soft chuckle. She isn't sure about either of those, but there certainly is something about them, especially the watchmaker himself.

"I'm Morgan Grimes, by the way," the shorter man introduces himself, "and, as you guessed, this remarkably oblivious individual is Mr. Charles Bartowski."

"Well, it's a pleasure to meet both of you," she responds, holding out a gloved hand for Mr. Grimes to kiss. "I'm Sarah Walker."

"Enchanté," Mr. Grimes grins. "I apologize for being inquisitive, but why are you here all alone?"

Sarah sighs. She'd known this was going to come up eventually, but for some reason she trusts these two. "Yes, well, my brother and I just moved here, so we have no friends or even acquaintances, you see. And as this is a surprise for my brother, I couldn't very well bring him along."

Mr. Grimes opens his mouth to reply, but Mr. Bartowski looks up at that moment and, seeming to have missed the entire conversation, tells her, "Just as I suspected - the spring has rusted through. I can replace it for you, but it's going to take a day. We've just run out of these, but I expect a shipment tomorrow."

"That sounds fine," she smiles. "I'll pick it up in the afternoon then."

"No," Mr. Grimes says with a vehement sake of his head.

She narrows her brows in confusion, noting her expression mirrored on Mr. Bartowski's face. "No?"

"What I mean is - why come all the way here by yourself when Chuck can give it to you tomorrow night at his birthday party?"

Although touched at the invitation, Sarah can only imagine John's reaction when he learns of this egregious breach of propriety. "I wouldn't wish to intrude, let alone on your birthday . . ."

Mr Bartowski, who has recovered from his momentary stunned silence, stammers, "N-no, you wouldn't be intruding."

Mr. Grimes nods vigorously. "That's right. His sister would love to have you there. Plus, it's a perfect opportunity for you to meet your new neighbors."

Seeing the uncertainty in her eyes, Mr. Bartowski offers, "If it will ease your brother's mind, I can ask my sister to call on you this afternoon."

She doesn't know quite what it is about these two. John is the only one she's allowed herself to trust since her parents died, and yet she finds herself wanting so much to take these two at their word, to believe that the world is good and that her biggest concern is simply how to transition to a new city. For some unfathomable reason, looking into his eyes - warm, brown ones swimming with hope - she trusts in all of that.

"Yes," she smiles, "that would be lovely."

**It's not too late to walk in my direction  
When, honey, everything you need's in your reflection  
**

As she expects, John is more than slightly irritated at the invitation. Ever since being wounded in the battle of Chancellorsville, his mood has been constantly on the decline. Shot thrice in the left leg, he should be lucky to be alive, to even have his leg at all. But instead he spends his days grumbling and barking at anyone brave enough to come near him.

It's not that she blames him. He's the bravest man she knows, and if she were a man, she would have been fighting alongside him the first chance she got. As it is, she's had to resort to the things she _can_ do. But he is her only companion, and she sometimes needs a respite from the melancholy and foul moods he falls into. She has indulged him, these three months, but now it is time to get him out into the world again. Tonight it is time for _him_ to indulge _her_, which he does so readily, if not entirely graciously.

They enter the crowded ballroom arm-in-arm, John endeavoring in vain to conceal his limp. Sarah scans the room for faces she recognizes, but it is difficult when she knows only three out of so many. She had known the Woodcombs were well-liked in the city, leads of society, but she hadn't anticipated a party of this magnitude. John looks less than pleased at the prospect of hobnobbing, especially when the ladies so outnumber the gentleman. Although, to his delight, a few of the gentlemen wear the blue.

Before Sarah has much time to feel overwhelmed by the guests, she hears her name being called and turns to see Mrs. Eleanor Woodcomb strolling toward her, followed closely by a handsome man in blue. As they approach, Sarah can see that his right arm is in a sling, his jacket hanging loosely over his shoulder.

"Sarah!" Ellie greets.

Sarah smiles. Their meeting yesterday afternoon, though sudden, was unexpectedly pleasant. Quite starved for female companionship lately, she'd taken an instant liking to the older woman.

"Ellie," she says happily, taking old of her hands, "it is good to see you."

"And you. I'm delighted you could come to such short notice, and I'm sure Chuck will be thrilled to see you. May I introduce my husband, Mr. Devon Woodcomb? Devon, this is Miss Sarah Walker."

"And this is my brother, Mr. Johnathan Casey. John, Mrs. Eleanor Woodcomb."

Greetings are exchanged all around before John jumps right into a conversation with Devon.

"That looks pretty nasty," he grunts. "Where'd it happen?"

"Gettysburg," Mr. Woodcomb tells him gravely. "I was very lucky. As soon as we realized my injuries weren't nearly as severe as some others', they sent me home to recover. After all, what use am I as a doctor if I can't use my arm?"

"Doctor, huh?"

Devon nods. "You?"

"Major. But I can barely walk after Chancellorsville. I'm certainty no use in a fight."

Leaving the boys to trade war stories, Ellie points toward the balcony. "I think Chuck's hiding out there if you'd like to say hello."

"Thank you," Sarah says before heading in the indicated direction.

The balcony doors are open in the sultry August air, and Sarah pauses at the edge of the ballroom to study the figure before her. His tall form is hunched as he leans forward, forearms resting on the balustrade. She marvels at how entirely unassuming he is, as if he moves through life without really being seen by anyone, and yet there's a mystery to him, a sadness that she can't quite pin down.

She strolls across the balcony to stand beside him, places her hands on the banister, and says, "Happy birthday."

"Thank you," he replies, and even in the darkness she can see the blush that tints his cheeks. "Oh! Miss Walker, I have your watch." He fumbles in his pocket before drawing it out and opening is hand to show her the timepiece lying on his palm.

"Shouldn't I be the one giving you gifts?" she laughs quietly, accepting the watch. "Thank you, Mr. Bartowski. My brother will be overjoyed to know that it works again."

He smiles kindly. "Of course. I enjoyed repairing it. As I said, it's a beautiful watch."

"It was his father's. It means a lot to him."

"_His_ father's?"

Sarah nods. She'd been wondering when they would broach his topic. "Yes. John is the son of my late father's steward. My father took him in when his died, and it's a blessing that he did so, for my own parents died a few years later. He's ten years my senior, and has been looking after me ever since."

He looks at her for a long moment, then says, "He seems like a good man."

"A very good man," she confirms. "Now what of your past?"

He dips his head nervously. "Why? What have you heard?"

"Nothing," she assures him, her curiosity aroused by his sudden timidity. Playfully she adds, "But you are hiding from your own birthday party."

He glances over at her, embarrassed. "They're all friends of my sister and her husband. I never really know what to say to them, especially . . . "

"Especially?"

He grimaces. "Especially because . . . there was . . . an incident, shortly after the war started. It's a long story, but the short end of it is that they all think I'm a traitor. The only reason they tolerate me is because of Ellie and Devon." With a self-deprecating smile, he adds, "And when they need to tell time."

His gaze is directed toward the gardens, and she uses the opportunity to scrutinize him for any signs of deception. She's heard the stories as well, the ones in which he and his best friend, a charmer by the name of Bryce Larkin, departed to enlist and join the war effort, only for Bartowski to turn spy for the greycoats, and be outed by his best friend, all before the end of their training. She's heard the stories, seen the disgust on people's faces as they relay the tale of betrayal and wickedness, and yet the supposed villain of this narrative stands before her with no hatred in his eyes, only sadness in his heart. Over the past few years, she has become adept at reading faces - seeing truth in a gaze or the lie in a twitch of the lip. She sees no dishonesty in him.

"Well," she murmurs, "I have all night and no desire to rejoin that crowd, so . . . I could do with a story, especially a long one."

It's the first time she's seen him genuinely smile, and the expression lights up his face. If she hadn't quite decided whether he was handsome until now, she does in the light of such a smile.

"Surely you've heard already."

"Yes, especially when I was asking around for the best watch repairman. But I should like to hear your side, if you should like to share it."

"There's really not much more to tell. Bryce and I met at university and became fast friends. We started in the timepiece business after graduated, had steady business for a couple years, and enlisted the day after Fort Sumter." He shakes his head, looking wistful at the memory. "We had huge aspirations. I was convinced we would give those rebels so much hell they'd be surrendering within weeks, and Bryce, well Bryce wanted to be the youngest general this side of the Atlantic. But it turns out I didn't know him as well as I'd thought. A few weeks into training, I was accused of being a spy for the rebs. It made no sense, of course, given my background, but it was early days and no one wanted to be the one to lose the fight for our country. A few of the men wanted to put me in front of the firing squad, a few wanted to lynch me, and these were men I'd lived with, shared secrets with, men I'd give my life for . . . And when I found out it was Bryce who accused me, Bryce who planted the evidence . . ."

He trails off, shaking his head disbelievingly as if the accusations were happening at this very moment.

"He planted it?" she queries.

"He must have, because it wasn't mine."

"But why?"

He shrugs forlornly. "I knew him for almost seven years, and even now I can't tell you."

A heavy silence hangs between them until her curiosity gets the better of her and she says, "I hope you'll forgive me for being presumptuous, but will you tell me what happened afterward? I can't imagine life as an accused traitor is easy."

A half-smile lifts the corner of his lips as he explains, "Well, I was [court-martialed and] in prison for a little while, but the evidence was all circumstantial, and they couldn't charge me with anything concrete."

"So you were let off." The thought, inexplicably, buoys her.

"Well, yes, but dishonorably discharged, and I've heard that the taint of accusation stays with you forever."

"Why don't you go somewhere?" she wonders aloud. "Why don't you just leave this silly town and all these ignorant people and just go someplace where no one knows who you are, where you can start your life again?"

Unexpectedly, he laughs. "Why, Miss Walker, you've known me for a day and already you want to get rid of me?"

Smiling, she stifles the playful urge to push him. "You know perfectly well what I meant."

"Yes," he nods, sober again, "and I _have_ thought about it. When this war is over, I'll leave. I don't know where I'll go yet, but I'd go anywhere to get out of here. If I left now, though, it'd practically be an admission of guilt. No matter where I went, people would say I went crawling to Lee."

She looks into his eyes, can suddenly picture him in the mountains of Europe, or on the beaches of the Mediterranean, anywhere but this country that has abandoned him.

"Well, for what it's worth," she says, placing her hands on the balustrade beside his, "I believe you."

He smiles at her again, and a current of warmth runs through her as her pinky brushes against his.

**Who's gonna walk you home  
And who's gonna hold your hand  
When you're heavy like a stone  
And there's trouble where you stand  
No, I won't tell your heart where to go  
Or make it feel something it won't  
You can rearrange the stars  
And make them all your own  
But you can't fall in love alone**

Sarah closes her eyes and breathes in deeply, allowing the fresh aromas of the garden to fill her lungs. It's been just over two weeks since she and John came to Philadelphia, and today is the first day she received a letter. The instructions had been simple - make contact, use the code phrase, acquire the ink.

So here she is, standing in the middle of a garden in the moonlight as the party carries on inside, waiting for a mysterious figure and finding herself thinking of a socially-inept watchmaker instead. In the fortnight of their acquaintance, they have dined together five times and his sister has invited her and John to the theatre thrice. She's indulged herself, allowed these new friendships to grow, but now that her instructions have arrived, she wonders whether these past two weeks have been more harm than benefit.

It does no good to dwell, however, and so Sarah turns her mind to the present at the sound of footsteps, faint at first, but more distinct as the figure makes his way down the path. She freezes in anticipation as he rounds the corner and appears around the hedge, silver light spilling onto his lanky, familiar form. With a small gasp, she emerges from the shadows.

"Chuck?" she asks, for they quickly progressed to a first-name basis when in private.

"Sarah? What are you doing out here?"

She considers for a moment that this may be coincidence, that he is not who she is waiting for at all. "I . . . just needed some fresh air. The ballroom is so stuffy."

"Yes," he nods, "quite." They stand in companionable silence for a moment until he ventures, "Beautiful night."

"Oh, yes, lovely."

He stands there, a little awkwardly, looking out upon the grounds, and she takes the opportunity to study him. There's something different about him, something she can't quite define that separates him from others of her acquaintance.

"Can I ask you something?" he queries softly.

"Certainly."

"Are you familiar with constellations?"

Sarah is momentarily stunned. She had begun to pass off his presence as mere chance, and is not prepared to hear the code question fall from his lips. Her heart begins to ache at the knowledge of what he has gone through and what he continues to suffer - a true unsung hero. He could have given up, turned his back on those who turned theirs, and here he is using his talents, his intelligence, to help them.

When she glances up, he's gazing at her expectantly.

"A little," she finally stammers, pointing directly up at the sky. "Is that not Orion?"

His face falls, his lips tighten into a frown, and he reaches into his coat to extract a tiny vial. Clear and full of a black liquid, it catches the moonlight as he holds it out to her, enough for her to see that there's a small, folded piece of parchment wrapped around it, tied with twine. It's as if he's suddenly, inexplicably angry. At what exactly, she cannot guess.

"Well, that's it," he tells her, making sure it's safely in her hand before turning away. She watches him go, his shoulders hunched, until he abruptly turns back. There's still shortness in his words but the anger in his eyes has dissipated. "Do you . . . do you need any help?"

Bottle clasped in her hand, Sarah shakes her head. "Pardon?"

He gestures nervously at the vial he's just given her. "The ink. Do you need my help . . . getting it . . . where it's going?"

She's not sure what to say. This isn't what happens, this isn't how it goes. She meets the contact, picks up the intelligence, and then delivers it. The contact has no role beyond the drop off. No contact has ever _wanted_ more than that, because it was terrifying enough to live in a time of war, let alone risk your life to pass on intelligence. And here this man stands, broken down from years of mistreatment and disrespect from his fellow patriots, and he wants nothing more but to sacrifice himself for their freedom.

"You've done so much for this country already," she says.

His shoulders spasm in a half-shrug, and his gaze wanders around before he says, "So there's a quota now? As soon as you get wrongly kicked out of the army, you're not allowed to care about whether a woman is putting herself in danger for you? This is . . . this is my invention. I should be responsible for it. How am I supposed to stay here and endure this -" He gestures back toward the house, back toward the party. - "while you take my place, while you assume the perils I should be facing?"

She can understand it, understand the need to immerse yourself in something bigger, immerse yourself so that your own problems fade in the light of the country's. But she has done this alone for so long that she bristles at the mere thought of relying on another person so thoroughly.

"I'm sorry," she tells him before turning and making her way down the garden path, leaving him standing there under the moonlight. 

**I know you're torn and in between dreams  
But it's all you've ever known  
And I know you're worn out at the seams  
Yeah, it's all you've ever known  
Well there's no place left for you to run  
You can cast your past into the sun  
Watch it light up the night  
And, honey, you will be fine**

The breeze hums gently through the trees. It's midevening, and Sarah sits with her back to the sinking sun, a frown on her face as she watches her stew cook over the fire. In these times, it's too risky to have a fire after dark, and she's of a mind to eat dinner and tuck in before night falls too heavily. Turning in early will help her to get an early start in the morning, and as soon as this mission is over, the better. There's something about it that strikes misgiving into her heart. For the past couple years, her dangerous trips across the country to deliver military intelligence have been the only thing to make her feel truly alive. And yet here she sits, dressed in boys' boots, trousers, and tunic, with a vial of possibly the most important ink ever mixed in the satchel at her feet, and all she can think about is the forlorn look on his face as she had left him only two nights ago.

She'd never cared before. Being alone had never mattered. She knows how to take care of herself, and John is always there if she finds that a task is too much to handle on her own. So why should it matter that he wanted to accompany her? Why should it matter that she feels more alone now than she ever has before? He's only an inventor, a watch repairman; it's not as if he would be of much assistance. Yet she cannot focus on the task at hand, preoccupied as she is by thoughts of him.

A frown darkening her features, she picks up a spoon and stirs the stew. A branch snaps, off to her left, and she freezes. Her eyes flit about her makeshift campsite, and she curses herself for leaving her musket on the other side of the fire, leaning against a tree trunk. She's not usually so careless, but she's been out in the woods on her own enough to know when anyone was nearby.

Keeping a steady gaze on the woods, she reaches down to retrieve the knife tucked into her boot. The weight is comfortable, reassuring in her palm, but her nerves tingle again as the sound of rustling underbrush becomes clearer. A figure materializes among the thick trunks. He's heading toward her, but his head is dipped down and he doesn't appear to have taken note of her yet. Nevertheless, she jumps to her feet and, as he stumbles into the small clearing, launches the knife at him. It whips past his face and lands with a _thwunk_ blade-first into the spruce just behind him.

The intruder comes to an abrupt halt, paralyzed with fear as he stares at the handle protruding neatly from the bark. It's not until he turns to look at her, mouth agape in terror, that she recognizes those brown eyes, those curly locks.

"Chuck?" she breathes, taken aback by his sudden appearance.

Calming down a little, he squints at her. "Sarah?"

Taking in his confused look, she glances down at herself, at her outfit. She's in men's clothing, and she's surprised he knew it was her at all. She fingers the knife in her belt, already knowing she won't be using it but reassured by its presence nonetheless. "What are you doing here?"

He gulps. "You're not, you're not going to throw another knife at me, are you?"

A smile tugs at her lips as she lifts her hands and shows him her open palms. "No, sorry about that. But how did you find me?"

Hesitating, he rubs at the back of his neck and says, "I . . . went to your house. I, uh, I was worried . . . about you, and John, well, he wasn't very helpful at first, but he eventually told me the route you were taking."

"He told you?" she queries, an eyebrow raised. "Willingly?" Because she cannot think of any circumstances under which John would venture information about her.

Chuck, smiling embarrassedly, shrugs and says, "Well, I'm pretty sure it was more because I threatened to not leave and not shut up."

She chuckles, feeling a warmth inside as she considers how far he's come just to be with her. He can be under no illusions about how dangerous this will be, and yet he has still chosen to come after her instead of sitting quietly back in Philadelphia, waiting for her to do the dirty work.

"Please," she says, gesturing toward a log next to the fire. "Sit. Are you hungry? Would you like some dinner?"

He rolls a second log over as she fills a bowl for him, and when they sit down beside each other, it's almost like they're having dinner back in the city, as if this were another normal night. But it feels so much more normal than any of the dinners they've ever had before. More normal, more relaxed, more real.

"I'm sorry," he begins quietly as he pokes at the stew. "I know the last thing you need is me barging in on you, but I just . . . I couldn't stay there, not when I knew what you meant to do."

"I've never had company before."

"Really? Not even your brother?"

Sarah shakes her head. "John's a soldier. He would much rather be on the front lines than sneaking through the forest carrying the country's most important intelligence developments in his satchel."

Frowning, he shovels a spoonful into his mouth and chews contemplatively. After a swallow, he asks, "And he lets you go alone?"

She stirs her own stew, hating the way he can make her question everything she's ever known and yet finding that she doesn't mind explaining herself to him. Maybe it's because he's the only person she's ever met who truly listens to her. So many of her acquaintances are preoccupied with speaking, and yet they never actually say anything of importance. Charles Bartowski on the other hand, he is molded from gentler, lovelier stuff. He has kindness in his eyes, true gentility in his heart.

"It's less dangerous alone," she tells him. "One person is easier to hide than a few, and when you're by yourself, there are fewer unpredictable events to worry about. You don't have to worry about whether someone is going to betray you."

"So . . ." he breathes, "does that mean I should go?"

She lifts her chin to look up at him, sees the hope in those soft, brown eyes. Chuck Bartowski is not going to betray her.

"No," she smiles, "stay."

**It's not too late to walk in my direction  
When, honey, everything you need's in your reflection  
Who's gonna walk you homey should it  
And who's gonna hold your hand  
When you're heavy like a stone  
And there's trouble where you stand  
No, I won't tell your heart where to go  
Or make it feel something it won't  
You can rearrange the stars  
And make them all your own  
But you can't fall in love alone  
You can't fall in love alone**

"Are you sure this will work?" Sarah queries, pulling anxiously at her gloves and flexing her fingers.

A residual wave of misgiving floods through her veins, but she chalks it up to the fact that, despite her closeness with John, she's never really trusted _anyone_. To suddenly rely on this man wholeheartedly is almost too much to bear. The truth is, however, that the plan they'd formed last night is vastly superior to the one she'd been following on her own. Chuck's additional resources have allowed them to purchase, among other provisions, new clothing - a proper dress for her and a new suit for him.

"Of course," Chuck answers, fastening his cufflinks. "I'm certain of it." He pauses momentarily as he struggles with his cravat. A half-smile tugs at his lips. "Why? Don't you trust me?"

Sarah, smiling, rolls her eyes. "I have to, don't I? Your friend, though, he doesn't know we're coming. Is that going to be a problem?"

She's made some connections during her three years of intelligence work, but Chuck had pulled through for her when he'd told her last night that he knows a scientist in the city. He and the mysterious Perseus have only communicated by letter, but it's the best chance they have at getting past the rebels at the city gates. Once inside, Sarah can hand off the ink and formula to her contact, who will assume the next leg of the journey in order to deliver them directly to General Meade. She had intended to get past the gates by relying on her stealth and her arsenal of knives, but she has to admit that Chuck's plan is much better, and infinitely safer, presuming that the wrong people don't find out who they truly are.

He turns around, still fighting with his cravat, but stops abruptly. His eyes go wide as he takes in her new green gown, and his mouth moves up and down as if the words simply won't come. Sarah feels a blush creep into her cheeks as he stares at her, but shakes off the swooping sensation in her stomach by strolling towards him, taking a hold of his cravat, and finishing the knot for him.

"Uh, t-thank you," he stammers as she secures the knot and pats the crimson material flat against his chest.

Maybe her hands linger for a few seconds too long, and maybe she finds that she doesn't much mind.

Clearing his throat, he keeps his eyes down as he fastens up his vest over the necktie. "Our arrival will certainly be a surprise, but, no, he won't turn us away."

They stand silently for a moment, Sarah studying him as, embarrassedly, he smoothes away invisible wrinkles in his suit. They haven't spoken a word about why he's truly here, and he has been acting as if nothing is out of the ordinary, as if they haven't spent the past day traipsing through the woods, as if their lives and the lives of so many others do not hang upon the events of the next few days.

"Why are you here?" she questions, her voice soft.

She's had her share of suitors through the years, none of them admirable enough for her to be seriously interested, but Charles Bartowski's affection is much different than anything she's experienced. Unlike many young men of her acquaintance, he is honest, never manipulative or cruelly false. He wears his heart on his sleeve, and she's starting to see that her presence affects him just as strongly as his affects her.

Chuck pauses thoughtfully. "I . . . It's just, you seem so . . . _sad_ all the time, like no one has seen the things that you have and if they have, then they couldn't possibly understand. I guess I didn't like the thought of you doing this alone, especially when I was the reason you had to put yourself in danger in the first place." He gives a little nod, as if satisfied with his explanation, and tries to not look too expectant.

A warmth spreads through her chest as he speaks, spreading through her veins and into her fingertips until she lays a hand on his arm and says, "You're a good friend, Chuck. Thank you."

Besides John, she's never had a proper friend, never known what it is to be able to wholly rely on another person if needed. But Chuck Bartowski is teaching her that such a relationship is not a weakness. In fact, she recognizes now that great friendship can lead to great strength.

**Tell me who's gonna walk you home, yeah **

Sarah lives for the thrill and danger of missions, and yet, as she steals silently through the city streets on her way back to the Busgang manor, she finds herself preoccupied with thoughts of her travelling companion. She should have shaken him off the moment he arrived. Not only is it dangerous for him (and somehow she knows that, if he gets wounded or worse, facing a score of crazed rebels would be easier than facing his sister), but she's heard tales of agents losing their way after picking up fellow travelers. In such an occupation of solitude, companions are too much of a distraction.

At least now, with the vial safely in Carina's hands, she no longer has to worry about getting caught with it in her possession. All they have to do now is make it safely back to Philadelphia. This mission is not over until she delivers him safely home.

She slips around a dark corner and pauses when she catches sight of the house. The windows are dark, the shades drawn for the night, and her heart falls at the sight. This is what her life is - one of emptiness, one in which there is no one to come home to, no one to wait up for her. An ache runs through her. She hasn't realized how exhausted she is until this moment. With a sigh, she resumes her walk, slips quietly through the servants' entrance of the manor, and makes her way to the bedroom she is sharing with Chuck.

They had decided upon a cover of husband and wife, thinking it would be the safest on their travels, but she hadn't thought through to nighttime. Of course Busgang would think nothing of putting them up in the same room. Chuck is probably asleep by now, peacefully, untroubled by cares.

But when she opens the door, slowly so as not to wake the household, and tiptoes into the room, she finds him awake and keeping vigil by the window. A candle burns on the table by the bed, throwing flickering shadows across the room. He turns when she walks in, his face lighting up with relief.

"There you are," he breathes. "Thank God."

Sarah leans against the closed door. "You didn't have to wait up for me."

Shrugging, he replies, "I . . . I couldn't sleep, not when you were out there."

She's never met someone who's had so much trouble keeping his feelings to himself, but she finds that she doesn't care. It's . . . comforting to have another person care so much that he gives up his own burdens in order to carry yours. "Well," she sighs, "I am back now, safe and sound, you see."

He smiles, and they regard each other for a long moment before he asks, "And everything went all right?"

"Yes," she nods, "without a hitch."

"Good. Good, I'm glad. Well, uh, you'd probably like to go to sleep now, wouldn't you?"

"That would be nice," she chuckles.

Smiling sheepishly, he hands her some bedclothes, and she retreats to the adjacent bathroom to change into the nightgown. When she comes back, she finds him settled on the floor with a blanket and a pillow.

As she climbs under the covers, she says, "What are you doing?"

He twists to look at her. "Well, we're not actually married. . . . I'm not about to sully your virtue, even if no one finds out that we're here together."

Sarah lets out a soft laugh at the idea of him 'sullying her virtue.' But instead she says, "I'm not about to let you sleep on the floor. That's . . . gross."

"It's very clean," he insists.

"Still," she responds, throwing back the covers on the other side of the bed. "Come on. What if something were to happen in the middle of the night and someone found you sleeping on the floor?"

With a smile, he gathers his blanket and pillow and slides into bed beside her, taking care to stay as close to the edge, and as far away from her, as possible. Once he gets comfortable, he murmurs, "John won't ever know about this, will he?"

"No," she laughs quietly, "I promise."

He shuts his eyes with an exhausted sigh, and she turns her head to watch him. This is new for her. Society is so confining, and its obsession with propriety prevents people from truly connecting. Conversations are shallow and meaningless; relationships are based on personal gain, whether monetary or social. But here, with him, she's free, unfettered by the rules of society.

"Chuck," she whispers, shaking away the surge of timidity within her breast.

"Hmm?"

There's so much she wants to say, but she's never been very good with expressing herself. She wants to thank him, for his goodness, for reminding her of what she fights for. She wants to reassure him, to show him that he is worthy of so much more than the life he leads. She wants to question him, ask him why he chose her, ask how he sees to the heart of her when others see only her beauty.

All those feelings get jumbled when she tries to articulate them, so instead she murmurs, "Thank you."

He opens his eyes and turns on his side to face her. "Of course. I . . . I was worried at first that you wouldn't let me stay. John was certain that you'd turn me away. So, can I ask, why did you let me come along with you? I mean, you've known me for a month, and yet you're the first person to ever believe me, about Bryce. You're the first woman who can look me in the eye, the only one who willingly converses with me. But why?"

Sarah takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. She rolls onto her side to mirror his body position, placing a hand beneath her head. "Don't say that, Chuck. You're amazing, a true unsung hero. And I wish, I just wish people could know that, that they could see how courageous you are when given the chance. The truth is that I've never met a man like you. How can you be so full of goodness after what has been dealt to you?" He is quiet, a blush rising to his cheeks, and she ends softly, "I guess . . . I guess I wanted you to have your chance."

She doesn't tell him that, over the past two days, she's thought about what life would be like with him by her side, how they could serve their country and go on missions together, how she would no longer be alone.

Smiling slightly, he reaches over hesitantly and lays his hand atop hers. "We make a pretty good team, don't we?"

She nods, matching his smile. "Yes, we certainly do."

In the morning, she wakes to a warm arm curled around her waist. It takes a moment for her foggy mind to comprehend, but when it does, she simply closes her eyes again and exhales. Maybe this is wrong, but she's going to allow herself a few minutes of indulgence before waking him up so they can resume their lives. His chest is pressed against her back, his head nestled into the crook of her neck so that his warm breaths puff against her exposed shoulder. Then he shifts, pulls his arm in closer before he seems to realize what he's doing and pulls away.

Abruptly, she flips over and finds her nose inches from his. His arm is still on her waist, her hands pressed against his chest. He's so close that she can see a future in his eyes, can see hope and affection and a thousand shining stars. It takes every fiber of her willpower, every ounce of her strength, to not lean forward and kiss him.

Unluckily, or luckily perhaps, a carriage rattles through the street, the noise loud enough to jolt them both to their senses. Chuck pushes himself away from her and out of bed.

"Well," he says, clearing his throat and moving to peer out the window, "we should get going, shouldn't we?"

"Yes," she murmurs, and the moment dissipates in a heartbeat. 

**Who's gonna walk you home  
And who's gonna hold your hand  
When you're heavy like a stone  
And there's trouble where you stand  
No, I won't tell your heart where to go  
Or make it feel something it won't  
You can rearrange the stars  
And make them all your own**

Sarah lets out a sigh as she rests her hands on the balcony railing. The air is cooler now, the night chillier than the last time she was here, two months ago. She turns as the balcony doors open, a smile coming to her face as Chuck steps out.

"Hi," he greets, stepping up beside her. "Aren't you cold?"

"I'm fine," she tells him. "I just needed a little air, that's all."

He chuckles softly. "You seem to prefer empty balconies to crowded ballrooms."

"I think everyone does, but no one will admit to it."

Grinning, he rests his arms on the balustrade and leans forward. "You're probably right."

They lapse into silence, quiet enough that Sarah can hear the din from the party going on behind them. She turns to look at him, framed in the light, and is struck by how sad he looks.

"It's nice to see you. It's been so long since we've had a proper conversation," she remarks quietly.

Looking up at her, he says, "You've been busy."

"But you haven't come to call as often as you used to."

"I'm sorry. I'll call more often, I promise."

"You can call everyday, if you wish."

It's bold and forward, but she _misses_ him, and why should she not speak the truth?

"Every day?" Chuck laughs. "Surely you would get bored with me."

"Never," she insists, sliding her fingers over his. "You know, I received a letter the other day, from General Meade himself. He wanted me to thank Orion for his contributions to the war effort. He even used your new ink."

His smile softens as he turns his gaze away. "Really? That was kind of him."

She frowns. "Chuck, what's the matter? You've done something amazing. Why are you so melancholy?"

He looks back at her and curls his hand around hers, holding it in a comfortable, reassuring grasp. "Does it get any easier?" When she regards him questioningly, he clarifies, "Coming home and pretending everything's all right? When, really, you're dying inside at the mundanity of it all?"

She knows exactly how he feels. She knows what it is to convince yourself that you're contented, when really you're simply waiting for the awakening. He's seen a glimpse of what his life can be. How can she ask him to return to his dull existence, one in which he is maligned and treated so unfairly?

But neither can she lie to him. "No," she says softly, because returning from the outside world is one of the hardest things she's ever done, and it gets harder every time she returns from a mission.

His face falls. "So, what do _you_ do? How do you keep from going insane? What's your secret?"

"I asked for another assignment, and another after that. I cannot be idle; I think too much when I'm idle."

"So that is the solution? Throw myself into my work? I used to be content, used to convince myself that I was simply biding my time. But now I know that there's more out there, that I could be doing so much more than I am. How am I to live with that knowledge and not act on it?"

Sarah gives his hand a light squeeze. She can withstand a life of solitude, a life of nothing but work and hardship and danger. But Charles Bartowski is meant for so much more. Surely her answer is not the one he should employ. Surely they met for a reason. There is such passion in his eyes, such sincerity, and she feels herself falling, feels herself powerless to stop the wave of affection within her breast. But, gazing into those warm brown eyes, seeing him in the moonlight, she suddenly realizes that, if she doesn't acknowledge and overcome her fear tonight, then perhaps she never will.

Resting her palms against his chest and lifting herself onto her tiptoes, she brushes her lips against his. His arms wrap gently around her waist. The kiss is soft, sweet, a kiss born in moonlight and secrecy, but he's smiling when she pulls away, and all the trepidation drains from her heart to reveal a stable and unwavering love.

She grasps his lapel, rests her forehead against his. "You talk too much," she murmurs teasingly, and he laughs, sliding a hand tentatively to her cheek.

"So I've been told."

Smiling up at him, she asks, "And yet you haven't learned your lesson?"

He purses his lips. "And that would be . . . less talking, more -"

Laughing quietly, she captures his lips and effectively cuts him off.

**Tell me who's gonna walk you home  
Tell me who's gonna walk you home  
You can't fall in love alone **

Even with the war on, there's an endless stream of parties for the newlywed Bartowskis to attend. His marriage to a beautiful young woman seems to have made Chuck's eccentricities and his past more suitable in society's view. Sarah and Chuck accept the invitations and attend each ball, each gala, each dinner. They have mutually decided to tolerate it all for the sake of Ellie and Devon, for their sister and brother's place in the town.

Tonight, though, is Christmas Eve, and Sarah would much rather be home with her new husband than be trapped in a ballroom with the upper echelon of society. Even John is in attendance this night.

A frown on her face, Sarah looks around the ballroom and locates Chuck in the corner, admiring a towering, decorated evergreen. She crosses the room to stand beside him.

"Good evening," she greets.

He smiles at her. "Ah, Mrs. Bartowski, are you enjoying the party?"

"I would enjoy it more if my husband would dance with me."

Laughing, he holds out a hand. "Perhaps I can rectify that."

Sarah takes his proffered hand and follows him out onto the dance floor. He isn't the best dancer in the room, but his presence is warm, and comforting, and lovely. She throws a glance over his shoulder, sees her sister and brother-in-law dancing on the other side of the room, sees John in the corner by the punchbowl. Even with the constant reminders of the war that rages around them - the letters, the missions, the injuries - Sarah is able to take consolation in the things that truly matter. There's happiness in a soft embrace, in a morning kiss, in a city blanketed in snow.

"Merry Christmas, Sarah," he whispers.

She smiles, her heart swelling with bliss. "Merry Christmas, Chuck."


	47. Science & Faith

Song: "Science & Faith," The Script

A/N: I love season four. I love it to bits and pieces. However, I felt like going back to explore season one a bit with this story. It starts around 1.06, "Chuck vs. the Sandworm."

Also, if you're not aware, **BillatWork **and I have a new story out called _The Long Brick Road_. It's under our joint name, **BillandBrick**. We have two chapters up so far with a third due on Thursday. Check it out if you haven't already! :)

If you haven't read _LBR _yet, then you probably don't know that I will be leaving soon. I'm going overseas for about two years, and I'm not sure what my internet access will be like. I'm going to try my best to round out this story at 50 chapters before I go, but we will see what happens. I just want to thank each and every one of you who's read this story, or even just a chapter or two. It's been a wild ride, has it not? :)

**

* * *

Tried to break her to a science  
In an act of good defiance  
I broke her heart  
And as I pulled apart her theory  
As I watched her growing weary  
I pulled her apart**

He tries to approach her like he would a computer. She's an enigma, an indecipherable puzzle, and his first instinct is to break her down into smaller components. This is how he solves problems. An obstacle is no more than the sum of its parts, just as a computer virus is no more than the code used to write it.

He thinks the way to get to know Sarah Walker is to know the facts about her life – where she was born, her favorite flavor of ice cream, the feature she likes best about herself. Her real name.

She's reluctant to give up even the most harmless information, so he is forced to rely on his innovation and the old Bartowski charm.

"A board game?" she asks, eyebrows raised in amusement.

He gives her a sheepish smile as they take a seat on the couch. "Come on," he pleads, "we've been cover dating for six weeks now and we barely know anything about each other."

"That's not true," she protests quickly.

He pauses, because he knows exactly what she means. Even in the six weeks he's known her, he's seen enough of how she acts on missions to know what a spectacular agent she is. The kind who knows everything there is to know about a mission, every possibility, every chance for it to go wrong. The kind who familiarizes herself with an asset's dossier until she can recite it from memory.

"Okay, so you've read my file," he concedes, "but do you know girlfriend stuff about me?"

"'Girlfriend stuff'?"

"You know, like you might know who my parents were, or the story behind how I got . . . what happened at Stanford." He frowns, then continues, "But everything you know, everything in that file the CIA has on me, those are just facts. And anyone can know facts about me."

A smile tugs at her lips as she says, "So, girlfriend stuff, like how you wore a cape for an entire month after you first saw _Superman_, and –"

"I was _five_!" Chuck protests with a laugh.

Ignoring him, Sarah says, "And how, after a day of work, your preferred method of relaxation consists of pizza and video games? How you start out the night sleeping on your back but somehow always end up on your stomach? Or how, even after all the bad hands you've been dealt, you still manage to be trusting, and remarkably, wonderfully loyal?" When she pauses to let her words sink in, he marvels at the serious turn in the conversation. "You mean that sort of stuff?"

Her voice is soft, her eyes heavy with an emotion she rarely displays, and Chuck finds that his mouth has gone dry. He certainly hadn't expected her to know details like that about him. The thought that it's not just about the job, that it may be about _him_, teases at him.

He finally stammers, "Yeah, yeah, stuff like that."

Apparently catching his stunned expression, she chuckles and says, "I'm just observant, Chuck. It's my job."

"Of course. Right."

Not because she _likes_ him or anything. Of course not. He's just a nerd, a computer tech who makes eleven bucks an hour, and she's a gorgeous blonde superspy. He should be grateful she's simply paying attention to him.

His heart plummets. This was a stupid idea. She doesn't want to spend any more time with him than she has to. She deserves a night off, away from his company; she doesn't deserve to babysit him like the government project he is.

"But I get it," she says, her eyes roaming over the game board he's set up. "I know more about you than you do about me, which isn't exactly great for the cover. Besides, everything's already set up."

He brightens. "Are you sure? I mean, you've probably got more exciting things to do than spend your evening playing some stupid get-to-know-you game with me."

"Not really," she assures him with a smile.

"Well, then," he says happily, "I'll go get some drinks. What would you like?"

"Whatever you're having," she answers and takes the opportunity to get comfortable on the couch, pulling her legs up underneath her.

He returns from the kitchen with a beer in each hand and resumes his place beside her. She accepts the proffered bottle with an appreciative nod.

The game is the same one they played a few weeks ago with Ellie, Awesome, and Morgan, although this time, as he explains, they won't be guessing each other's answers. The point is to get to know one another better. Each time someone lands on a square and selects a card, the other has to answer that question.

"Got it?" he asks after briefly explaining the new rules.

Sarah nods. "Yeah, I think I can handle this."

He grins. He's seen her handle international arms dealers, traitors, and even run-of-the-mill thugs. He's pretty sure she can handle it, too. "Okay, ladies first then."

"All right," she smiles, picking up the die and giving it a shake in her first before rolling it onto the surface of the coffee table. She moves her marker ahead four spaces, takes a card, and chuckles quietly at the question on it.

"What?" he asks curiously. "Is it bad?"

"'Worst Date Ever,'" she reads from the card.

"Why are you laughing? Why is that so funny?" he says through a chuckle.

"Because I have a feeling there's a fantastic story here, although you better not say _our_ first date."

She ends with a playful glare, so that he's not quite sure whether she's completely kidding or not. He's seen her shoot a gun, however, and is consequently positive that the way to stay in her good graces would be to follow her instructions.

"All right, all right," he mutters, relaxing back against the cushions, "worst date. Summer between high school and college. Now, this was back before I was cool, all right?"

Laughing softly, she settles in for the story, hugs a pillow to her chest, nibbles on her thumb contemplatively.

Chuck has to take a deep breath at the sight of her sitting so cutely, but he continues, "There was this girl named Michelle. We'd graduated together, but I thought she'd never give me the time of day. Anyways, Morgan –"

"Wait, wait, wait," Sarah interrupts, holding up her hands. "Morgan was involved in this? Now I know why this ends badly."

"Hey, now," he laughs, "the bearded man has some skills."

"Yes, but none of them has to do with romance."

"Okay, well, we were eighteen, and I was convinced this was my own version of _Say Anything_."

"Say what?"

Chuck's face falls blank. "Please don't tell me . . . I can't believe . . . I just . . . "

"What?" she insists.

"John Cusack? Ione Skye? Cameron Crowe?" He throws his hands up incredulously. "You've really never seen _Say Anything_?" Off her head shake, he frowns. "Next movie night."

"Sounds like a plan."

"Okay, anyways. Summer. She was really popular in our class, set to go to Brown in the fall, and, strangely enough, said 'yes' when I asked her out. But when it came time for our date, nothing, and I mean absolutely _nothing_, went right. It was actually quite beautiful, if you think about it, how horrible it all was."

"What exactly went wrong?"

"Well, to start the night off, I had to borrow Ellie's car and I got a flat on the way to her house. So I was late, and Morgan ended up rescuing me by biking out to where I was stuck on the side of the road, lending me his bike, and waiting with the car until roadside assistance or Ellie and Devon could show up. When I finally got to Michelle's house, an hour late, she had to drive. She was surprisingly okay with all this so far, but I was absolutely mortified by it.

"I had planned on taking her out to this fancy restaurant, but of course, they'd given away our reservations, which turned out to be a good thing, because I'd left my wallet in my jacket in the car."

Sarah's eyes have gone wide with disbelief, and he only nods in confirmation before continuing, "Yeah, so, we ended up going to the pier, her in that summer dress and me in my slacks and tie. But she had to pay for everything – dinner, the games. I mostly let her play, couldn't even win her a stuffed animal, and I'm pretty sure I spent the entire night apologizing and promising to pay her back. Then it started to rain." He grimaces at the memory. "Eventually I just had to throw in the towel. The night was a disaster. I had to ride Morgan's bike home through a downpour."

He ends with a regretful smile, and carefully avoids her gaze, always so intense and unnerving.

"Did she have a good time though?" Sarah asks perceptively.

"You know," he muses, "I think she may have."

"Well, if she had a good time, it can't have been your _worst_ date," she reasons.

Chuck offers her a melancholy smile. "It's what came after that makes it the worst."

Sarah, sitting tensely, waits for him to continue.

With a sigh, he tells her, "She called me." He pauses, shaking his head in disbelief at the recollection. "I was so . . . humiliated by how badly the date had gone. When she called me the next day, I couldn't pick up, I couldn't talk to her. I spent the rest of the summer avoiding her."

His shoulders slump in disappointment, because he still doesn't like to think about that. He's never been smooth with the ladies, and he had royally screwed that one up. He looks up when Sarah slides a hand over his.

"Hey," she says quietly, "it sounds like she really liked you."

"Maybe, but I'm no Lloyd Dobler."

Her eyes narrow, and her lips twitch in a smile. "I don't know what that means."

Chuck lets out a playful groan as he reaches for the die. "_Say Anything_. This weekend. Promise me."

"All right, I promise," she chuckles.

Chuck rolls a three, advances, and picks up a card. "Okay, okay, 'Most Surprising Event in Your Life.'"

There's a distant look in her blue eyes as she contemplates. He wonders what she's thinking about, if she's thinking about her childhood, the day she got recruited, her life as a spy.

Eventually, she tells him, "The day we met."

He tries to not smile, but he can't help it. "Really? Why's that?"

"You were nothing like I'd expected," she admits, "the first nice guy I'd met in a really long time."

It may not be everything, but it's a good start. It's certainly a good start.

**Having heavy conversations  
About the furthest constellations of our souls  
We're just trying to find some meaning  
In the things that we believe in  
But we got some ways to go**

He spends their cover dates building his own Sarah-centric Intersect. It becomes a secret project for him, collecting pieces of information about her. If there's one thing he learns about her, it's that she's an intensely private person, and so the knowledge comes in bits and increments, never enough to put together the entire picture. Each time he learns something new though, a thrill goes through his heart. He's one step closer to really knowing her, one step closer to surmounting her defenses.

Interestingly enough, but perhaps not surprisingly, Ellie turns out to be his strongest ally. She adores Sarah, gushes over what a cute couple they make, and praises her for being able to drag him out of the house. And Sarah, in turn, opens up to her. She offers up stories of her childhood that she's never told him, and it's all because of Ellie's sisterly warmth and the fact that the two of them have nearly polished off their second bottle of wine.

A part of him is jealous, even, of his sister, which is stupid. This is the woman who practically raised him. He's lucky to be able to call her a friend as well as a sister.

But he's Chuck – curious, insufferable, a little bit irritating – and sometimes he just can't help himself. So even though he knows tonight is Ellie and Sarah's girl night, he waltzes through the door, messenger bag slung over his shoulder, jingling his keys loudly to alert them to his presence.

Sarah looks up from her perch on the stool at the counter, while Ellie, bustling around the kitchen, spares him a smile. They each have a wine glass in hand.

"Hey, Chuck," Sarah greets. "We weren't expecting you. What happened to gaming at Morgan's?"

"It fell through," he sighs.

Ellie, frowning, says, "I'm sorry. What happened?"

"Anna called."

The women nod in understanding.

"Well, Devon's at the hospital," Ellie explains, "but you're welcome to join us for some wine, gossip, and a showing of _Pride and Prejudice_."

"Really?" he asks, perking up considerably. "Which version?"

"Come on, Chuck," Ellie laughs. "Colin Firth, of course. Sarah's never seen it."

Indeed, when he glances over at his cover girlfriend, there's a faint blush on her cheeks. But when he looks just a little closer, he starts to think that her discomfort stems from something other than simply her lack of exposure to pop culture.

This is girls' night, and he's intruded on that because he's lonely. Sarah's lonely, too, starved for feminine companionships he can guess. How many nights does she get to spend with just Ellie, just as friends? One night a month if their schedules work out. All the rest of the time, she's hanging with him or working with Casey or even tolerating Morgan. When she does get to see Ellie, it's usually in the context of double dates with him and Awesome, which can be fun but aren't exactly the best way for spies to relax.

Shame hits him sharply in the chest as he realizes that his sister has been a much better friend to Sarah than he has. He's demanding, needy, always wanting her to put a little more effort into this, more than she can give. Whatever happened to simply being happy in her company?

He thinks he would maybe be more content if she would let him know once in a while that she's having a good time. He sometimes hates how incommunicative she is. Would it kill her to come out and say that she'd rather spend a night away from him? Then again, maybe it would . . .

"Thanks for the invite, El," he says. "Sounds like a lot of fun, but I have no right to interrupt your girls' night."

Sarah's shoulders relax with relief, though he can see how she struggles to hide it.

"Are you sure?" Ellie queries. "What are you going to do by yourself?"

Chuck shrugs. "I'll go to the arcade, or maybe I'll hit up the movie theater. If you give me five minutes to change, I swear I'll be out of your hair."

He turns to head down the hallway, but stops when Sarah catches his wrist.

"Hey," she says softly, "thank you."

Though he can feel the blush rise to his cheeks, he brushes off the gratitude. "No problem. You deserve a night off to hang with a friend."

She stares at him for a moment, a thousand arguments behind her eyes. He needs a protection detail, he won't be safe out by himself, he could get into trouble. But one night is one night, and how much danger could he possibly get into on his own?

"You didn't have to do that," she smiles, and he notes the slight quaver in her voice.

Before he can reply, she lifts herself onto her bare tiptoes, places a palm against his neck, and presses a quick kiss to his lips.

"But I'm glad that you did," she continues. "So thank you."

It's not much, but not much by normal standards is a hell of a lot by Sarah standards. And when he calls her 'sweetie,' it doesn't feel like a lie.

**Of all of the things that she's ever said  
She goes and says something that just knocks me dead  
You won't find faith or hope down a telescope  
You won't find heart and soul in the stars  
You can break everything down to chemicals  
But you can't explain a love like ours**

Her name is Meg, and she's one-hundred percent, breathtakingly normal. She's got long brown hair, a bright, easy smile. She's a junior agent for an independent record company, which means he doesn't have to explain who Bon Iver is, or why Arcade Fire's debut album is the one he would choose to have if he were trapped on a desert island. And she likes to talk, about everything – music, philosophy, sports, cuisine – which makes him feel a little less alone.

He's always the one who has to do the talking that it's a relief to find someone who's not averse to opening up a little. They go out a lot at first, always making sure Casey knows where he's going and keeping his watch on just in case. But he talks so much about Ellie and Awesome and Morgan (and really, how can he not?), even Jeff and Lester and his fellow Buy Morians, that she starts to get curious about his family. According to her, they sound so outlandish or wonderful that they can hardly be real. It's a challenge, of course, because he's been reluctant to let her meet them for the few weeks that they've known each other.

As soon as she brings it up, his palms begin to sweat and he starts to wonder what they'll think. Ellie and Awesome are always welcoming, of course, and will be happy to meet her. But Morgan will be devastated to find out that he and Sarah have 'broken up' once again. Then there's the matter of Sarah, which is yet another matter entirely. He still can't quite get a grasp on this cover relationship. She seems perfectly content, even happy, to indulge in it, but can't she see that he wants more? He wants normal. Meg is normal; Sarah is most definitely not.

After some cajoling and pleading, he gives in to her request, and they set up a dinner date for Friday.

"So what'd you think?" he asks Ellie after he's bid Meg goodbye and he's helping his sister clean up after dinner.

"She's nice," Ellie tells him with a slight shrug as she loads the dishwasher.

He's known her long enough to know that 'nice' is Ellie code. "You didn't like her?"

"It's not that we didn't like her, Chuckster," Awesome begins, wrapping the leftovers and sliding them into the fridge.

"It's that she's just not Sarah," Ellie finishes for him.

Chuck frowns and leans against the counter, arms crossed against his chest. "You've said before how Sarah and I never really go anywhere."

"I know," she replies. "I know I've been a little . . . frustrated with the lack of development in your relationship, but that doesn't mean I don't think Sarah's the right girlfriend for you, just that you two need a little . . ."

"Prodding," Awesome suggest helpfully.

Ellie smiles. "Exactly."

Chuck lets out a sigh. He thought he'd had this figured out, thought that Sarah was the one holding him back, thought that Meg would be a breath of fresh air. So far, though, he's felt like trying to be friends with Meg is wrong somehow, that his cover girlfriend deserves better than that. He certainly didn't expect Ellie and Awesome to side with Sarah.

"Sarah . . ." he begins, shaking his head, "Sarah's a closed book. What we have, that's not going anywhere. She as much told me herself."

Ellie offers him an encouraging smile, moving closer to rub his shoulder. "Chuck, I know as well as anyone that Sarah has commitment issues. Sometimes people do at first. But if she really loves you, and, believe me, she does, you two can overcome that."

"It's not like Meg and I are dating or anything," he tells them halfheartedly. "She's just a friend. I'm allowed to make other friends, especially since Sarah and I are on a break."

"I know, little brother," Ellie says. "And we definitely don't want you to think that we dislike Meg. She seems really great."

Awesome sidles up beside Chuck, mirroring his posture. "It's just that we don't want you to give up on something great that you already have."

**Ooohhhh  
It's the way we feel, yeah this is real  
Ooohhhh  
It's the way we feel, yeah this is real  
**

She says his name over and over, so often that he hears it in his dreams.

"_Stay in the car, Chuck."_

"_Call me as soon as you get this, Chuck."_

"_Chuck, we need you to look at some photos."_

Even: _"I had a nice time tonight, Chuck."_

He's starting to realize just how frequently she says his name. Her sentences are peppered with it, like she's trying to hang onto him, keep him safe, just by keeping him constantly in her thoughts and on her tongue.

There'd been a period in high school when he hated his name. It was the name of an old man you'd see in the park, wearing a newsboy hat and a tweed jacket with those patches on the elbows, playing chess with his retired buddies. Or the name of a boring, balding middle-aged guy in a wrinkled suit, that guy in the office who did most of the work but was still the butt of jokes at the water cooler. Or the name of the clueless middleman in a drug transaction.

All the cool guys in his school had names like 'Brady' or 'Jameson' or 'Archer.' Names that belonged to lacrosse players, names that belonged inscribed in ancient New England family bibles. The popular guys were never named 'Chuck,' and the guys named 'Chuck' were never popular. It was a 'chicken or egg' thing.

He'd gotten over his dissatisfaction with his name after a thorough talking-to from his sister. He was a Bartowski, after all, as she kindly reminded him, and he wasn't going to be ashamed of that.

But it's not until he meets Sarah, who can't seem to stop wrapping her tongue around his name like a particularly juicy slice of fruit, that he comes to actually like it.

It's _his_ name she says, not anyone else's. It's _his_ name she calls when she spots a bad guy and levels for a fight, _his_ name she murmurs when he's down and in need of some reassurance, some friendship.

There has to be something in that, he tells himself. Sarah is not a very vocal person. Even when she gets angry, she'd prefer to hash out her problems physically, with a bad guy or with the punching bag, rather than engage in a shouting match. She's action-oriented, and everything she does has a purpose. He's starting to realize that, starting to realize that when she leans in close to fix his tie, or brushes his hands over his chest as she removes lint from his Nerd Herd shirt, it's not simply to satisfy the cover.

Maybe she doesn't have a lot of ways to say how she feels, but maybe he's the one who's been missing all the signs.

**I tried pushing evolution  
As the obvious conclusion off the start  
But it was all my own amusement  
Saying love was an illusion of a hopeless heart**

Ellie finds him in his room, playing _Call of Duty_ and sulking. Still dressed in her scrubs from the day's shift, she leans against his door frame.

"I don't think you've moved since I left for the hospital this morning," she teases.

He pauses the game and turns around. "Oh, hey, El. How was work?"

"Work," she shrugs. "What are you up to? And please don't tell me you're playing video games all night."

Chuck smiles. "I hadn't decided yet. I don't really have any plans."

"Sarah's busy tonight?" she asks nonchalantly, and he has to shake his head in reluctant admiration. She really would have made a great spy. If only she knew what he actually did on Nerd Herd calls.

Trying to keep his voice casual, he answers, "I don't know. I haven't talked to her since yesterday."

Ellie, sighing, says, "I'm making chicken parm tonight. Maybe she'd like to come for dinner."

"Maybe."

"Let me put it this way, Chuck," she tells him with a smile, "either you can invite her, or I will."

"Why are you so fixated on this, Ellie? I already told you, Sarah's not into me like you think she is."

Ellie, arms folded, takes a seat beside him on the bed. "Look, Chuck, I know you and Sarah are having a rough time, but . . ."

"We've had a lot of problems, El," he corroborates. "She doesn't open up to me. I'm not the guy she's looking for –"

"So what?" she asks, and he looks at her in wonder. "Couples have problems, Chuck. It's what happens in a relationship, but," she pauses, shaking her head as she searches for the words. "Sarah's special, Chuck. I know it. You know it. If you love her, if she's the one, then you don't stop. You don't quit. You never go too far. You are a Bartowski, Chuck. Start acting like one."

Chuck stares at her for a moment before a smile spreads slowly across his face. "You really think we can work things out?"

"I really do," Ellie nods happily. "Sarah brings out . . . a side of you I haven't seen since your Stanford days. You're confident again. You don't spend _every_ night playing video games with Morgan," she laughs. "And you're happy, which is pretty great to see."

"Thanks for the pep talk, Ellie," he says, standing up and heading for the closet.

"You're welcome." Her brow creases as he thumbs through the clothes in his closet. "What are you doing?"

He turns around, holding up a black button-down. "If Sarah's coming over, I think I want to wear something a bit nicer than my 'What the Frak?' t-shirt."

**Of all of the things that she's ever said  
She goes and says something that knocks me dead  
You won't find faith or hope down a telescope  
You won't find heart and soul in the stars  
You can break everything down to chemicals  
But you can't explain a love like ours**

Somehow, Sarah seems to just _fit_ – in his house, in his family, in his life. Maybe it's because she has no real family of her own left and Ellie can never refuse someone in need. Maybe it's because he's trying so hard to see it, see the way she laughs at Morgan's jokes, or bravely takes Awesome up on his offers to go mountain biking, or even spends time with Ellie simply because she wants to. Or maybe it's because she cares for him, maybe she fits because she _tries_ to.

He's in the kitchen, under the pretense of getting another round of beers for Team Bartowski, but he gets distracted as he watches her share a joke with his sister on the couch. When he watches her with his family, it's easy for him to believe that this isn't just a cover for her, that the people he cares about have become the people she cares about, too. A smile on his face, he carries the bottles of beer into the living room, hands them around, and takes a seat beside Sarah, who welcomes his return with a quick peck on the cheek.

She curls into him, one hand resting on his thigh, and he's struck again by the thought that she says so much more without words than she ever could say with them. He's been so frustrated with this whole cover relationship thing, frustrated with its limitations and constraints, but Sarah isn't the one he should take out his anger on. She's just as much a victim of it than he is, maybe even more so, because at least he's able to express his feelings without any fear of punishment.

"Thanks for coming tonight," he murmurs over the din of the conversation.

Sarah turns to smile at him. "Thanks for inviting me. I know you didn't have to."

"And I know you didn't have to come."

Shrugging, she tells him, "I wanted to."

He gives her a lopsided smile. "I'm glad you did."

"Well," she says quietly, glancing around at the slight chaos surrounding them, "it may not be the most normal family situation, but it's the one I've got, and it's the one I like." She pauses for a moment before adding uncertainly, "Maybe normal _is_ whatever messed up thing we've got, right?"

Chuck regards her wonderingly before sliding an arm around her shoulders, causing her to return her attention to him. He's amazed that she can make out so clearly what he can only see to be a tangled mess. He shouldn't be though. There's nothing surprising about a woman who's barely known goodness finding normalcy where she can.

"Yeah," he murmurs, "you're absolutely right."

**Ooohhhh  
It's the way we feel, yeah this is real  
Ooohhhh  
It's the way we feel, yeah this is real**

"I've been thinking about what you said," Chuck says, keeping his voice down so only Sarah can hear, and Casey through the earwig by default, but that can't be helped.

Sarah frowns as she scans the room. "You mean about the brief? About you finding the access codes and letting me handle grabbing the chip?"

"No. I mean, well, yeah, that's probably a good idea, but that's not what I'm talking about."

"Then what is it?" she asks, turning to face him.

Dressed in a sapphire cocktail dress, she looks absolutely stunning, but he can tell she's irritated by his lack of focus. She's mission first, talk later.

"You know," he begins, "I've been thinking about how normal is sometimes exactly what we have. It doesn't have to be some vague ideal that we're working towards." He sighs, keeping his gaze on hers. "I may never know much about you, and the closest we get to being a real couple may be on missions, or cover dates. But normal's only what you make of it." He offers a half-shrug. "Right?"

She gazes at him for a moment before nodding. "Right."

"So I guess what I'm really trying to say is . . . I'm sorry. I've been acting like sort of a jerk lately."

Sarah takes a step closer and places a hand on his chest. "You want to make it up to me?" He quirks a smile, and she says, "Then don't get in trouble tonight, okay?"

"Okay," he promises, feeling his heart lift as she presses a kiss to his lips.

"Okay then," she says before taking his hand and leading him away into the crowd, her mind once again focused on the mission.

**Of all of the things that she's ever said  
She goes and says something that just knocks me dead  
You won't find faith or hope down a telescope  
You won't find heart and soul in the stars  
You can break everything down to chemicals  
But you can't explain a love like ours**

A smile comes to his face as Sarah appears at his window.

"Hey, what are you doing here?" he asks, getting up to usher her inside.

She takes his hand and clambers through the frame, a DVD clutched in one hand. "Well, I know it can be nice to just relax after missions, so I thought I'd stop by to see if you wanted to hang out. Besides," she smiles, "we never got to watch _Say Anything_."

He lets out a soft laugh as she holds up the movie for him to see. They'd meant to watch that weeks ago. He shrugs sheepishly. "I'm sorry I forgot."

"It's okay," she replies casually. "We've both been busy, haven't we?"

He nods. "Well, want to set up while I get some post-mission snacks?"

"Sure," she replies, already leaning over to pop the movie into the player.

When he returns with popcorn, Red Vines, and some cola, she's stretched out on the bed. He stops short in the doorway, the sight nearly knocking the breath from his lungs. She looks so strikingly _normal _lying there on his bed, with her messy ponytail and her ankles crossed and a small smile tugging at her lips, that it solidifies the truth in his words from earlier. He doesn't need the dream of how he wanted his life to turn out – the successful career, the house in the suburbs, the dog, the beautiful wife. He just needs _her_.

He piles the food between them, stretches out beside her, and, just five minutes into the movie, he decides he could get used to this, get used to coming home after a mission and relaxing with her. He loves being on missions with her, loves seeing her in her element and learning from her, but he's starting to realize that nothing can beat these tiny moments of the ordinary and everyday.

Something changes between them during the movie. Walls come down for a little while, a truce is agreed upon. And they get closer. Those crossed ankles uncross, her feet spreading until her bare ankle is grazing his. Sometime between Lloyd and Diane's first date and their break-up, they finish the popcorn and Sarah rests her head on his shoulder.

And when it's over, she frowns, "You know, Lloyd Dobbler is pretty great-"

"See, I told you," Chuck begins triumphantly. He loves sharing things he loves with her, and seeing that she enjoys them in turn.

She lifts her head to smile at him. "But I don't think he has anything on you."

**Ooohhhh  
It's the way we feel, yeah this is real  
Ooohhhh  
It's the way we feel, yeah this is real**


	48. Walk Away

Song: "Walk Away," by the Script

A/N: Many thanks to **BillatWork** for beta-ing this for me! I know it's slightly monstrous to read, haha.

I usually don't like using songs by the same artist right in a row, but as soon as I heard this song, I thought of Evil!Sarah, and this AU sort of came to be all on its own. :)

* * *

Sarah Walker, clad in a trench coat black enough to match her hair and shiny Aviators that hide her eyes, strolls up to the café. She peers through the window and quickly locates her contact. He's sitting with his back to her; all that's visible is his suit and his dark curly hair. She's seen only a photo of him, but she'd recognize that mop of hair in a crowd any time.

When she waltzes through the front door, her high-heeled boots clicking against the wooden floor, all eyes turn to her. She's a commanding presence – dressed in all black, straight black hair, a well-toned figure. The only person who doesn't turn to look her over is the man she's set to meet. Ignoring the gazes of the curious café-goers, she strides toward his table and takes a seat across from him without waiting for him to offer.

"Mr. Carmichael," she greets, removing her sunglasses.

When she looks up from folding the glasses, she finds that her breath has caught in her throat. The man before her is about her age, twenty-eight or twenty-nine. He's dressed in a plain black suit with a pinstriped green oxford and an orange patterned tie. He has unruly hair, warm brown eyes, and a wide, adorable smile. She's not exactly the kind of woman to use the word 'adorable,' and she hasn't even properly met this man, but he's already got her heart racing.

After shaking off his surprise, he reaches out a hand, gives her a dazzling smile, and she can feel a miniscule crack in her defenses form. With a twitch of her mouth, she forces away any thoughts of that nature and leaves his hand hovering between them.

"Hi," he greets, "Charles Carmichael. Most people call me 'Chuck.' You must be from Volkoff Industries, Miss . . ." His pleasant demeanor wavers as she refuses his handshake and he withdraws the offer.

"Walker," she fills in for him. He can at least know her last name.

"Well, it's a pleasure to meet you, Miss Walker. Can I get you a coffee?"

"I'm fine," she answers shortly, a little more harshly than she intended. It's not his fault that his politeness has her on edge. Most people in this business treat her, rightly, as the middle man, the one who stays in the background.

"Right," he says, lips pursed in confusion. "I guess we should get right to it, then, shouldn't we? I've brought a sample of the software. I've got my laptop here if you want me to set up, I can demonstrate for you. I mean, well, I know this isn't the best place for a software demonstration, especially one you're interested in buying, what with all the people, but we –"

"Mr. Carmichael," she cuts him off, and he looks up at her gratefully.

His nervous rambling is a far cry from the cool, calm manipulation she deals with on a daily basis, but she struggles to keep her mask of indifference in place. It won't do to become attached to him only for him to get sucked into Volkoff Industries. He seems like a nice guy, and nice guys don't survive VI.

As she gazes into those brown eyes, she can see his life split off from this moment. She's faced with a choice here, holding his future in her hands. She could sit back and do nothing, go through with the deal her boss sent her to make, watch him as he disappears inside the company and loses himself. Or she could save him right here and now by destroying the hope he's come here with.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Carmichael," she tells him smoothly, "Mr. Volkoff has decided that he's no longer interested in your software."

With swift movements, she replaces her Aviators, stands up, and heads for the door. He catches her down the sidewalk at the corner, calling after her. She stops with a heavy sigh. She hadn't really expected him to just take that rejection and get on with his life.

"Wait, hey, that's it?" he questions as she turns to face him again. There's such a heavy dejection in his voice that she almost feels bad for crushing his ambitions so cruelly. Mr. Carmichael frowns, his breath fogging in the cold November air. "He's just decided against me that quickly, huh? And he couldn't have told me that before I flew all the way out to Moscow?"

"Look, I know it's hard to understand –"

"Does he not like the software? Does he think there's a problem? Whatever it is, we can fix it, I promise."

She doesn't let herself smile at his eagerness. "It's not the software, Mr. Carmichael."

His shoulders slump. "Then what is it?"

Sarah takes a breath, his nervous gaze giving her pause. "You seem like a nice guy, Mr. Carmichael –"

"Please, call me 'Chuck,'" he insists.

"Chuck," she smiles. "It's just, I don't think you'd be a good fit for this company. Like I said, you seem nice, and a nice guy like you has no business getting involved with Alexei Volkoff."

A crease appears in his brow as he contemplates that, but he seems to accept it. Finally, he asks, "But what about you?"

She cocks her head. "What about me?"

"Well," he shrugs, "your boss doesn't exactly sound like a great guy to work for. Are you sure _you_ should be involved with him?"

Sarah's heart leaps. Of all the lines she's heard, of all the men she's encountered . . . She's Alexei Volkoff's Enforcer, his agent to carry out the dirty work, to make sure people fall into line and do as he wishes. She's done a lot of horrible things and covered up even more. No, she shouldn't be involved with a guy who makes her do such things, but no one's ever told her that before.

"Look," Chuck continues, his shyness back in full force, "I get that you don't want to do business with me, that's fine. But I don't fly back until Friday, and I know exactly zero people in this city." He shrugs. "Would you maybe . . . want to have that coffee with me?"

**I don't know why she's with me  
I only brought her trouble since the day she met me  
If I was her, by now I would have left me  
I would have walked away  
But now I've broken away  
Somehow instead she forgave me**

Sarah watches from the corner of the room as Chuck strolls slowly through the exhibit, pausing often to read the explanatory plaques and study the objects within the cases. She comes here often. Her job with VI isn't exactly a time-consumer, so she wiles her afternoons with trips to the museums around the city, or just long walks. November's gotten a bit too cold for a walking tour of the city, so she's brought him to the State Historical Museum. It's fairly empty because of the time of day, so they have this particular room to themselves.

Soft afternoon sunlight streams in through the window, illuminating his figure. He glances over, and she quickly reverts her attention to the case or artifacts in front of her, but she can't hide the hint of a smile on her face. He continues his stroll for a few minutes, completing his circle around the room until he steps up by her side.

"So," he begins, "this is your favorite place in the city, huh?"

She nods.

Chuck stands quietly for a moment before venturing, "Can I ask you why?"

"Lot of history here," she answers, walking through to the next room, the Old Russian Town room. She's always loved this collection, since the first time she stepped foot in here.

He follows, traipsing quietly after her. She can feel his eyes on her as he considers the situation, considers why she's taken him up on his offer to show him the city when she's barely talking to him. Here she is, Volkoff's Enforcer, who carries knives strapped to her thigh and only looks at a person in order to assess their threat level, willingly spending time with a nerdy software designer from Burbank, California. She doesn't want to question it, but that doesn't mean she's ready to give in just yet.

She's used to being alone, has even taken pains to become self-sufficient, but becoming independent has stripped her of any depth of feeling she used to have. Being with Chuck . . . stirs something in her, something unfamiliar and warm and good.

She walks up to the case that displays early metalworking tools. Chuck waits silently to see if she'll explain any further.

Eventually, she says, "The thing about history is that life, people never really change. It's all about survival. I like that museums show that."

Hesitant, he rocks on his feet. He asks softly, "You think life is just about survival, even now?"

"I think the trappings have changed. Survival used to be about food, nature, relationships; now it's about reputation, finances, popularity. But yeah, it's still survival at its core," she answers, but he seems to be afraid of offending her if he asks any more questions. "I've been here for . . . eight years now," she tells him as a way of letting him know it's all right to ask.

"And you've been working for Volkoff Industries all that time?"

"Mostly. I was in Russia for a few months before I got . . . involved with them." Before they recruited her, is the truth.

"And what do you do, exactly? Are you the rejection man, the one who meets with prospective business contacts in order to crush their goals?" He chuckles self-deprecatingly.

She turns to quirk a smile at him. "They call me The Enforcer."

He stops walking, a little stunned by the confession. "Th-that sounds . . ."

"Violent?" she fills in for him. "That's because it is."

She has this perverse need to nip this in the bud right here. She can accept being inexplicably attracted to him, but if he gets an idea of what she really does, who she really is, maybe he'll make the decision for her and jet before it can go any further.

"Well, you certainly look the part," Chuck smiles. "Sort of Lara Croft meets Miranda Lawson."

She regards him in wonder. She's basically told him that she's an assassin, and he's comparing her to . . . whom exactly? "I don't know what that means," she admits, which appears to shock him even more than her last confession did.

Chuck shakes his head incredulously. "You're kidding me, right? _Tomb Raider_? _Mass Effect 2_? No? Nothing? Not a video gamer then, huh?"

"So you are?"

He grins. "Would I be outing myself as a nerd if I said 'yes'?"

"A big one," she confirms with a grin of her own.

He lifts his eyebrows. "Oh, really? What about you, Miss I-Know-Nothing-About-Pop-Culture? Is that your big secret, by the way?"

"You mean beside the fact that I work for Volkoff and am a very dangerous woman?"

"Yeah, beside that," he chuckles. "Everyone has a secret. I've been standing here trying to figure out what yours was. I was thinking that either you're a cannibal, or you know absolutely nothing about pop culture, and I was pulling for cannibal, because I've never met one before."

"Not a cannibal," she confirms, "although we do have one. Volkoff's pretty fond of him."

"Fond of a cannibal? Wait, you actually know a cannibal?"

Sarah smiles at him. "We call him Yuri the Gobbler. Earned the nickname because he likes to devour his victims." He lets out a noiseless whistle. She continues, "Don't worry. I'll make sure you never cross his path."

"Thanks for that," he chuckles, "but there's still the issue of you knowing very little about movies or music or video games or books. I'll bet you don't even know your favorite band!"

She purses her lips, a guilty blush on her cheeks. What is it about this guy that lets him pierce her defenses without her even being aware of it?

"Oh, my God," he murmurs, "you don't, do you? You don't have a favorite band. What about movies? Do you have a favorite movie? I'll even take the name of a song that comes on the radio once in a while that doesn't bug the complete crap out of you."

Her mouth contorts in stifled embarrassment as she offers him a shrug. When he hangs his head in mock disappointment, she laughs, "Are you starting to rethink this newfound friendship?"

Chuck picks his head up, grinning. "'Course not. If it weren't for you, I'd be eating room service in my hotel room and watching Hulu. This," he looks around at the museum, gestures at the city outside the window, "this is much better."

"You know," she begins, taking a step toward him, "you could always teach me. We could go back to my apartment for a little private instruction."

Chuck blanches, swallowing nervously and tugging at his tie. "Uh, it's still, uh, afternoon," he stammers. "There's lots of time to get to know one another before . . . before we . . ."

"Chuck," smiles Sarah, "relax."

She steps closer still to straighten his tie and smooth it against his shirt, and he does relax. Her heart race speeds up as she looks up into his eyes. She's close enough to smell his Old Spice cologne, close enough to taste the tinge of peppermint on his breath. Her hands linger on his chest, and there's a fuzziness stirring in the pit of her stomach that she does her best to ignore.

Chuck is tense, his muscles taut with anxiety and anticipation. He tilts his chin down a fraction, and she needs no more invitation than that before stretching up to press her lips against his. It's hesitant, searching, but when she opens her mouth to his, he slides a hand to her neck and relaxes into the kiss.

**She said a woman's got to do what she's got to do  
Even if it means she denied herself the truth  
'Cause when you're in too deep you wake up when it's too late,  
You've fallen in love in the worst way  
And if you don't go now then you'll stay  
'Cause I'll never let you leave, never let you breathe  
'Cause if you're looking for heaven, baby, it sure as hell ain't me  
**

Their lips disconnect as they stumble backwards in the darkness and her legs knock against the coffee table. He lets out a nervous chuckle before she pushes off his outer coat and his suit jacket, fists his shirt, and pulls him around the table toward the bedroom. His arms encompass her waist, and she takes a brief moment to recognize how good he feels, how well he kisses, before he chases all coherent thought from her mind.

They stagger through the doorway, and, her fingers working vigorously at his tie knot, she pulls him back onto the bed. Abruptly, Chuck breaks away from her and hoists himself onto his elbows.

"Hey, hey, hey," he begins, nervousness creeping back into his voice, "This is great, right? I mean, yeah, you're great, amazing even, but –"

"Chuck," Sarah sighs, a half-smile playing over her lips as she listens to him ramble.

His attention snaps back to her. "Yeah?"

"It's okay," she assures him, "really."

He rolls onto his side with a relieved sigh. "It's just . . . I think you're gorgeous, and incredible, and . . . you seem very agile, and I'm . . . . unbelievably flattered that you wanted to invite me back to your apartment, let alone share some coffee with me, but . . ."

She shifts into a more comfortable position and tilts her head to face him. They must look sort of ridiculous, lying on the bed, both in their business clothes, his an actual suit but hers mostly tight leather. But she listens to him patiently, mesmerized by the kindness in his eyes.

"The thing is," he continues, "I'm not really a sleep-together-on-the-first-date kind of a guy. I guess I thought . . . I'd be okay with it, seeing as I've only got a few days here, but I don't want to do that to you."

She raises an eyebrow. "You're worried about _me_?"

He shrugs. "Your life seems . . . like a lonely one."

There's a lot implied behind that statement – that she's a woman of one-night stands, that whatever this is with him would turn out to be just that. But the truth is that, while she doesn't go on dates or forge relationships, she's not much of a one-night stand kind of woman either. More of a lone wolf than anything. And she knows instinctively that, if Chuck were to spend the night, it could become a hell of a lot more than a one-night thing.

She slides off the bed and crosses to the window to slit the blinds open, letting in the light from the street. It's not even six o'clock, but it's already dark, and the only light is from the streetlamps and the moon.

"I understand, Chuck," she tells him as she turns on the lamp and rejoins him on the bed. "But maybe you can still help me with my whole pop culture problem?"

He sits up. "You want me to stay?"

"I'd like that," she assures him. "I'm thinking take out? There's a video store a few blocks down that has a good English section."

His only answer is a wide, dazzling grin.

A half-hour later, they're back in bed, sitting up side-by-side. They've got Polish take-out, her choice, and a few movies that Chuck had chosen at the video store. The first is just about to start when he looks over at her and asks, "Are you sure you don't want to change into something more comfortable?"

He's taken off his tie, unbuttoned the first few buttons of his shirt, and taken off his shoes, which Sarah's noticed for the first time are black Chuck Taylors. She glances down at her own outfit – black leather pants with a tight black t-shirt and a black leather jacket, although she's had enough sense to ditch her high-heeled, knee-high black boots.

"I am comfortable," she tells him.

"Really?" he laughs, eyebrows raised. "I can't imagine that that much leather is comfy."

"Obviously you've never tried it," she retorts, though she gets up to find some jeans and a sweatshirt anyways. She doesn't bother to go change in the bathroom, and he doesn't say anything, although he does develop a fascination with his pierogi. "So what are we watching first?"

"_Serenity_. It's a classic."

"Like an actual classic, or a nerd classic?" she asks as she pulls on her jeans.

Chuck freezes, a bite of pierogi halfway to his mouth. "Uh . . ."

"So a nerd classic, then," she chuckles.

"It's awesome, I promise," he says with a laugh. "It's like a western set in space."

Sarah settles back onto the bed. "You do realize how ridiculous that sounds, don't you?"

He nods. "Very much so, but I really do think you'll like it."

He's smiling at her, and she's starting to realize that she can't refuse him. Which is how she ends up spending the evening eating take-out and watching sci-fi movies with a man she met only this morning, something that Alexei Volkoff's Enforcer never thought she'd experience.

**So walk away, walk away, walk away, oh  
Save yourself from the heartache, oh  
Go now before it's too late  
So walk away, walk away, walk away, oh  
Save yourself from the heartache, oh  
Go now before it's too late  
But still she stays**

"You're saying that the software doesn't work?"

Alexei Volkoff regards her curiously from behind his desk, because she's Sarah Walker, and Sarah Walker doesn't fail.

"Yes," she tells him quietly, standing stock-still.

"You ascertained this for yourself?"

"I did."

Volkoff frowns. "I'm very disappointed, Sarah, and you know what happens when I'm disappointed."

"I do."

Disappointment means bullets in brains, usually. But he would never kill her, not when she's so valuable to his organization.

Volkoff swivels in his chair. "I suppose it sounded too good to be true. How do we proceed, Sarah, how do we proceed?"

"Mr. Carmichael will return to LA at the end of the week and tweak the software," she informs her boss. "We're not sure how long that will take, but in the meantime, we can shop around for similar programs."

"Ah, but this was _the_ program. I was resting my hopes on it."

"We'll have to wait a little while longer then."

Volkoff nods. "And where is our little software engineer now? Are you putting pressure on him to fix it?"

Sarah's lip twitches, and she wonders how much he knows. Her boss has eyes all over the city. Over the years, she's found that the best way of dealing with his moods is to tell the truth, or as close to it as you could without disappointing him.

"I am," she assures him. "I'm . . . showing him the city."

"Ah," he smiles knowingly, and she decides to come clean in a way that he'll understand.

"The software may need some work, but," she tells him with a nonchalant, one-shoulder shrug, "Mr. Carmichael's proving to be charming company."

Volkoff claps his hands together in delight. "Ah, Sarah, you're dating! Finally! I was starting to wonder how long it would take you to settle down." She opens her mouth to protest that spending a few days with a man she just met is very far territory from 'settling down,' but he presses on. "You have to take some time off. I insist. How long is he going to be in Moscow?"

"Until Friday."

"That's not very long at all," he frowns before brightening again a moment later. "Well, you must make the most of it! Tell you what, take my box at the opera tonight."

"That's very generous of you . . ." She can just imagine getting dressed up, buying a new dress for tonight, but what if Chuck doesn't like the opera? Then again, she hadn't expected to like science fiction movies so much until last night proved her wrong.

Volkoff, still grinning, waves off her gratitude. "Nonsense. You two will love it. They're doing _The Legend of the Invisible City of Kitezh_." He nearly squeals in delight at the thought of one of his favorite operas, but calms down enough to add, "So get out of here. I don't want to see you again until Friday, understand?"

Sarah nods, and he shoos her from the office.

**She's standing in the heart of darkness  
Saying I know you got a soul even though you're heartless  
How could any woman in their right mind be so blind  
To find something this safe  
Instead of walking with me she should have walked away**

Sarah nearly doesn't feel her cell buzzing in her purse as she and Chuck sit in Volkoff's private box. He's dressed in a rented tux, looking as dapper as she'd expected him to, and she's donned a never-worn burgundy gown for the occasion. She's been glancing over at her date every few minutes to determine whether he's actually enjoying the opera. He seems to be, so far, judging by how he can't take his eyes off the stage, but she's forced to drag her attention away from him when her phone buzzes. Surreptitiously, she pulls it out and sneaks a peak at the text message:

_Lobby. ASAP._

"Chuck," she whispers, leaning closer to him, "there's something I have to take care of. I'll be back in a few minutes, okay?"

"Sure, sure," he nods. "Is it anything I can help with?"

She smiles, presses a quick kiss to his lips. "Just business. I'll be five minutes, promise."

She slips out of the box, heads for the stairs to go down to the first-floor lobby. But a figure steps out from around the corner, and she nearly stops short at the sight of her mentor.

"Frost," she greets in a hushed voice, "what are you doing here?"

Worry lines form on Frost's face as she frowns and draws her into the corner. "Alexei's going to test you tonight. He wants to make sure he still has your loyalty."

"What? How?"

"I don't know the details," Frost insists, "but I know it's happening tonight, and I know he's worried about this guy you've picked up being a distraction. He doesn't want to lose you."

Sarah purses her lips and studies the older woman for any tells. She should have known there had been something behind her boss's good humor this morning. "That's why you're here, too, isn't it? You want to make sure I'm not burying my frustrations in meaningless flings."

"It's what people like us do, Sarah," Frost shrugs. "But you're not just any other agent. I want to make sure you understand the consequences of what you're getting into."

"It's nothing. I'll be fine."

"'Nothing'?" her mentor repeats, looking less-than convinced. Sarah towers over the woman, but she still has a way of making her feel like a punk 22-year-old again. "Is that why he's sleeping at your place instead of at his hotel? Does he even know what you do?"

Sarah, jaw tightened, lets out a breath. "I should go. Chuck will be wondering where I've gone to."

A remarkably swift change comes over Frost's expression. There's a guardedness in it now, but also an underlying softness. "Chuck? That's his name?"

"Yes, his name's Chuck."

"Good name," Frost murmurs, just as the man himself peers out from the box, and she quickly sinks into the corner, ducking into the shadows.

"Everything all right, Sarah?" Chuck asks quietly.

Sarah throws a quick, questioning glance at Frost before turning to face him, shielding her from his sight. "I'm fine. Just some business stuff. I was just finishing up."

"Great. You might want to hurry. They're preparing for battle. And singing." He grins and adds, "It's the most ridiculously fantastic thing I've ever witnessed."

Sarah laughs softly. "Okay, be there in a minute." Spinning, she studies Frost again before whispering, "Frost, what is it? Do you know him? Who is he to you?"

"No," Frost shakes her head, "he just looks like . . . someone I used to know."

This is the woman who taught Sarah everything she knows about living a secret life, about lying to someone's face, but she just can't believe her.

**She finds color in the darkest places  
She finds beauty in the saddest of faces  
For such a clued in, headstrong city girl  
Could've had the world but she's fallen in love in the worst way  
And if you don't go now then you'll stay  
'Cause I'll never let you leave, never let you breathe  
'Cause if you're looking for heaven, baby, it sure as hell ain't me**

Sarah, arm laced through Chuck's, strolls quietly down the street. The theater crowd has petered out, which is fine by her. She's never much liked crowds, and finds that she much prefers Chuck's quiet company.

Her spark of happiness goes out when she notices a third shadow on the wall beside them.

She leans up to Chuck under the pretense of saying something playful to her date, and instead whispers seriously, "Chuck, I need you to go to the car right now and wait for me there. Do you understand?"

He regards her warily, but nods his comprehension.

"Good," she says with a slight grimace, reaching a hand up to his neck and pressing a soft kiss to his lips.

They split off at the next intersection, Chuck continuing down the sidewalk towards a group of opera-goers waiting at the upcoming crosswalk, and Sarah ducking into a darkened alleyway. She presses her back against the brick wall to wait for her assailant. She'd left her gun in her apartment, thinking this was a real date, thinking Volkoff had given her a couple days off. The only weapons she has on her are the knives strapped to her thigh. Taking a deep breath, she slides one out of its sheath and hefts it into her palm. Over the years, knife throwing has become less about thought and more about instinct, but nothing prepares her for the surprise when the unknown figure strolls past the alley entrance and continues in pursuit of Chuck.

Rational thought drains from her mind and blood rushes through her veins as she takes off after the attacker. Out on the street, under the lamps, she can see that Chuck is unaware of the man following him. It's snowing, and the man has his collar pulled up against the snow, but there's a knot in the pit of her stomach that tells her his path is no accident, and his posture, his left hand curled in his jacket pocket, leaves her in no doubt that he's carrying a gun. He's following Chuck, and he's following him for a reason she has neither time nor interest to discover.

With barely a second thought, she hefts the blade in her palm and hurls it at the assailant. It catches him in the shoulder, causing him to cry out in alarm and turn his attention toward her and pull his gun. Unfortunately, the scuffle doesn't go unnoticed by Chuck, who turns around in surprise after hearing the shout. But she has no time to think about the shock on his face, the horror.

She rushes forward and kicks the gun from his hand, and she can tell by his hesitation that he's an amateur, someone who's been duped into this, someone who's holding a gun for the first, maybe the second, time in his life. He begins to fling his arms out wildly, and a fist catches her in the jaw, knocking her backward a step, before she regains her balance and pummels him in the stomach. He pulls the knife out of his shoulder with a pained grunt and slashes out, catching her on the forearm. Grimacing, she grabs his wrists, pushes him against the wall, and knees him in the groin. The blade drops as he grimaces in pain.

"_What do you want with him_?" she growls in Russian. "_Who sent you_?"

Now that she can see his face in the lamplight, she recognizes one of the tenors from the opera house, a supporting player, a guy in his mid-thirties with dirty blonde hair and a medium build. He shakes his head, jaw clenched.

Changing tactics, she whispers angrily, "_What does Volkoff have over you? Why did he send you? Tell me, or I swear I will slit your throat_."

"_H-he said all I had to do was scare the guy_," the tenor stammers, "_and he'd forgive my earlier transgressions_."

Sarah lets out a sigh. This guy is just a lackey, not a real threat. Just as she's about to let him go, a shot goes off, knocking the tenor to the ground. He lies there against the wall, limbs limp, a bright red circle blossoming on his chest. She veers around to the intersection, where the shot came from, in time to see two of the men who'd been in the crowd at the crosswalk grabbing Chuck, muffling him, and dragging him down the snowy walk.

"Chuck!" she shouts before grabbing the opera singer's gun and taking off after him.

The gunshot has frightened off the few people who had been around, so the chase is through mostly-deserted streets. She tails them around the corner, feeling the blood rush in her ears.

_Chuck_.

A black sedan squeals to a stop at the curb. One man throws the back door open and the other pushes Chuck roughly into the back seat. Sarah, mouth grim, plants her feet and rockets off a shot, hitting the first man in the shoulder. He tumbles to the sidewalk, a smear of vibrant red against the pure white snow. The other one turns at the sound of gunfire, reaching for the gun tucked into his waistband.

Sarah's mind is a mash of discordance. There are so many things running through it, pushing for attention. _Gun, danger, Chuck, blood, Chuck, loyalty, betrayal, Chuck, Volkoff, Frost, Chuck, tests . . ._

It takes only a split second for the most important to rise to the surface: _Chuck_.

_Chuck's in trouble._

Before the thug can level his gun at her, she fires two shots into his chest, and he buckles to the ground. She fires one more round at the driver, who slumps against the car door in a spray of glass, the shot having penetrating not only the window but his skull. She rushes forward and lurches into the backseat to find a huddled, shaking Chuck. Extracting another knife from the sheath on her thigh, she slices through his wrist bonds.

"Hey, hey, hey," she says softly, leaning forward to grasp his face, "Chuck, look at me. Are you all right? Are you hurt?"

His lips twitch, but he still doesn't look at her, still doesn't speak.

"Chuck, say something," she urges. She takes him by the arm and drags him gently out of the car. "Come on, at least get out of this car. We need to get out of here."

Eyes distant, he looks down and pulls at his dress shirt, where there are bright splotches of red. The thug's blood. Sarah twists her lips as she watches him struggle with the realization, watches him clench his fists, watches his knuckles turn nearly as white as most of his shirt.

Her heart plummets when she considers that this was her boss's plan all along, to frighten away the one man who'd ever shown an interest in getting to know the real her. Volkoff's a romantic, to be sure, but he's also insecure, and would be terrified at the prospect of her ever leaving the company. He could have set this up only to horrify him, to get him too close to her, to have him see her in action. Chuck's sweet, innocent, exactly the kind of guy who'd never be able to reconcile The Enforcer with Sarah Walker.

"Come on, Chuck," she says quietly, supporting him with an arm around the shoulders as she leads him down the sidewalk.

There's a lot to do, a lot to take care of, but there are more pressing matters at hand. She types a quick text in to The Cleaner before turning her attention back to Chuck.

Rubbing his shoulder gently, she says, "Let's get you home."

**So walk away, walk away, walk away, oh  
Save yourself from the heartache, oh  
Go now before it's too late  
So walk away, walk away, walk away, oh  
Save yourself from the heartache, oh  
Go now before it's too late  
But still she stays  
But still she stays**

Sarah's heart nearly jumps out of her chest when she opens the door to find Chuck standing there, still in his tuxedo from earlier in the evening and a plain brown bag clutched in one hand.

"Chuck," she breathes. "You came back."

She'd been afraid he would disappear forever, afraid tonight would be the last she'd see of him, afraid she'd lost her chance.

He nods, a tight, mirthless smile stretched over his lips. "Well, I left some of my things here."

"Yeah," she says, glancing back into the room, where his suitcase still lies open beside her bed, "I noticed." She turns back to him with a sigh. "Will you come in?"

He swallows thickly before taking a step into the room. Nervously, he holds up the bag. "I, uh, I brought you some . . . Well, I brought you something."

Curious, she takes the bag from him and peeks inside. "Frozen meat?"

A furious blush rises to his cheek, and he rubs at the back of his neck sheepishly. "I thought it might help with . . . the aftermath of a fight, I guess. But I'm not sure I really found the best thing, or went to the best place."

Sarah's touched by his thoughtfulness, amazed that he would even think about her after what she put him through tonight.

"Thank you, Chuck," she smiles softly. "I'm going to wash up a bit. Do you want to change maybe? All your clothes are still over there."

She holds her breath as she waits for an answer. He should at least change his shirt, still marred with reddish-brown stains.

"Yeah," he nods, "yeah, sure."

She waits and watches him for a moment to make sure he's out of his earlier stupor, watches him kneel down to look through his suitcase, before she retreats to the bathroom. Once in front of the mirror, she holds the wrapped meat against the blossoming purple bruise along her jaw.

Her reflection is such a miserable sight that she frowns at herself, a crease forming in her brow. She's changed out of her gown and into her only pair of sweatpants and an old t-shirt. Her hair is held back loosely in a clip, stray strands hanging down. The cut on her forearm has opened up, bleeding through the hasty bandage she'd wrapped around it.

She's a complete mess. But as bad as she looks on the outside, she's a thousand times worse on the inside. As she begins to unwarp the bandages on her arm, she glances up to see Chuck in the mirror, stepping hesitantly into the bathroom. He's swapped his bloody tuxedo for a plain old t-shirt and jeans, clean and unmarked by the evening's incident.

"Hey," she greets quietly, pausing in her work.

"Hey," he says replies with a tight smile. "How's the jaw?"

"Better, thanks. I'm almost finished. I just have to wrap up my arm again."

Leaning against the doorway, he frowns at the cut. "I'm not really one for blood," he tells her shakily, "but if you need some help . . ."

"Thanks, Chuck," she smiles, surprised to note the relief she feels. "Maybe you can tie it up for me when I'm all finished?"

"Sure," he nods, moving around her to lean against the countertop. He avoids looking at the wound and shuffles from foot to foot a bit. "Looks pretty bad."

"Not too bad," she assures him with a shrug. "Not bad enough for stitches, and certainly not the worst I've had."

"Right," he murmurs softly.

Twisting her lips, she focuses on washing, drying, and bandaging her arm. She can tell she's upset him by brushing this off. She wants to convince him that, really, this is nothing, but Chuck isn't like her. He's not a guy for whom an encounter in an alleyway with guys who want to kill you is any kind of normal. No, he's pure and sweet and so much more than she could ever have been foolish to hope for.

He starts to pick at some invisible fuzz near the hem of his shirt. He takes a slow, deep breath and says, "You told me yesterday that life was all about survival."

He frowns, and she pauses as she waits for something more. How she regrets those words now. They'd been true, still are really, but even just two days with him is making her rethink all the central tenets of her existence. How could she hope to survive, to hang on to her beliefs, if she stays with him much longer? She'll be wrapped around his finger come this time tomorrow.

"I guess what I'm asking is," he begins again, hesitantly still, "do you ever think there's something more? Or is it all just . . . fight after fight with you? You know, survive one set of bad guys with guns only to have to survive another?" He finally looks up at her, and her breath catches in her throat. He swallows and says, "What sort of life is that?"

She reaches out to lay a hand on his wrist. Quietly, she replies, "No sort of life at all."

Licking his lips, he ghosts his fingers over hers, as if reassuring himself that her touch is the truth, that her hand on his wrist is real.

She takes a step closer to him and holds out her right arm, the fresh bandage still untied. "Do me a favor, all right?" she asks soothingly. "Tie this up for me and we can go talk about this. How does that sound?"

Wordlessly, Chuck picks up the clasp from the counter and fastens the bandage. His fingers tremble slightly, but he gets the job done ably, clenching his fists afterwards. With a deep breath, she takes him by the hand and leads him back into the bedroom. She makes him sit down on the bed while she disappears into the kitchen for a few minutes to fix some drinks.

She imagines he's a beer drinker, but beer seems not strong enough for the talk they're about to have. So, peering into the liquor cabinet, she decides that mixed drinks may not be enough either. When she returns to the bedroom, an entire bottle of vodka clutched in her hand, she finds him stretched out on the bed, leaning against the headboard.

She clambers onto the mattress to stretch out beside him, setting the bottle between them.

"I thought you could use a drink maybe," she tells him.

"Thanks," he chuckles softly.

She keeps a small distance from him, not wanting to spook him any more than she already has, as she begins. "I was a punk when I was younger," she tells him, and he smiles at the mental image it gives him. She lets a small smile appear on her lips as she shakes her head. "I grew up with my dad, who was a con artist, not exactly the greatest role model. He was arrested when I was eighteen, so I spent about three years following in his footsteps. I picked up a partner, her name was Carina, and we decided to come to Russia for some small-time gigs."

Fidgeting now, she forces herself to take a breath and calm down. It's not the time for wallowing; it's the time for explanations. "After a few months, we started to get attention, started to take things a bit too far. I was twenty-two when Volkoff captured us, gave us an ultimatum." She looks up to offer him a tight smile. "I took it."

He tilts his head thoughtfully. "What about Carina?"

"She managed to escape. I hear from her every once in a while. She's . . . doing as well as I'd expect."

"But she left you . . . to what? To rise up in an organization you despise?"

With a frustrated sigh, Sarah grasps his hand. "I know it's hard for you to understand, but what I'm trying to tell you is that Volkoff Industries didn't destroy my life. Okay? It saved me. _Frost_ saved me. Without it, without her, Carina and I would have overstepped our boundaries eventually. And con artists who get too big for their britches are dead con artists."

"And Frost? Who is that?"

"My mentor. The woman who convinced Volkoff not to kill me for my 'impertinence.'"

"And she taught you?"

Sarah nods. "Everything I know now, I know from either my father or her." Seeing that he doesn't quite know what else to say, what he can ask or how far he can push this topic, she turns to face him fully and says, "Look, Chuck, the fact is that you . . . are an amazing guy. And now that you know the basics of my history, you can see why this is a bad idea."

He runs his thumb over her wrist. "What I see is that you saved my life tonight."

She has to smile at his optimism. "Sure, okay, but if it hadn't been for me, you wouldn't have been in danger in the first place."

"That's one thing that confuses me . . . Why me?"

"I don't really know," she confesses with a one-shoulder shrug. "My boss is a difficult man to figure out. He's a romantic, but I think he would prefer my loyalty to not be threatened at all."

Chuck looks up, and his soft brown eyes threaten to devour her. "And I'm a threat to that?"

"Yeah," she breathes, almost inaudibly.

"Sarah," he murmurs, sliding a palm to her cheek, "the truth is that you make me feel . . . incredible. I'm not normally this crazy, or this forward, but –"

Pressing a hand to his chest, she interrupts, "Chuck, stop. You barely know anything about me, and what you do know . . . that's got to scare you." She frowns. "I've got a lot of baggage."

A smile spreads slowly across his lips. "Well . . . I can be your very own baggage handler."

He immediately looks like he wishes he could take back the line, but it makes her laugh, and she's in desperately in need of that tonight. Reluctantly, she whispers, "Chuck . . . I don't want to get you mixed up in this."

"I think I already am, whether you like it or not. Because the plain fact is, Sarah Walker . . ."

He trails off, and she pulls back a little to get a good look at him. He's nervous again, but she prompts, "What?"

And he says quietly, "I'm besotted."

Smiling, she slides her hand from his chest up around his neck. "Besotted, eh?"

"Utterly."

"This is a horrible idea," she says, more to herself than to him, even as she leans closer.

"I take full responsibility."

And that's the last thought in her mind before his kiss saps all mental coherency from her.

**I don't know why she's with me  
I only brought her trouble since the day she met me  
If I was her, by now I would have left me  
I would have walked away**

"Hey," Chuck says, and she can hear the smile in his voice even though she's turned away to the window, "where are you going?"

"To get us some breakfast. I thought you'd be hungry after last night," she teases quietly.

He chuckles and says, "I am, but I'd be willing to skip breakfast if it meant getting my bedfellow back for a little while."

She turns so he can see her roll her eyes, but then he stretches out a hand and a smile comes to her face and she's climbing back under the covers and into his arms. He shifts against her, snaking his arms around her waist.

Leveling a serious gaze at him, she reaches up to place a palm against his cheek. "How'd you sleep?"

"Mmm," he groans happily, "very well." He waggles his eyebrows and adds, "This bed is _very_ comfortable."

Her thumb strokes over his cheekbone as she tells him softly, "Maybe you shouldn't get too comfortable here."

"What?" he smirks. "Afraid I'm going to become too attached to your 800-thread count sheets?"

She sighs. "Chuck, I'm being –"

"Serious, I know," he finishes for her. "But if_ I_ can be serious for a minute, these sheets really are the most luxurious I have _ever_ slept on. Where did you get them? Do you guys have Pottery Barns in Moscow?"

Smiling despite herself, she slaps his chest gently and asks, "Are you ever serious?"

He purses his lips thoughtfully and hums. "There are times, occasionally, but they usually involve video games and grape soda."

"Grape soda?" she parrots, eyebrows raised.

"Oh, I never joke about grape soda."

She chuckles lightly as she rolls onto her back, and he snuggles a little closer to her with a blissful sigh. When he grazes his knuckles lightly over her bare arm, she closes her eyes in contentment. There must be something wrong with her, to be this at ease with him. Her life isn't simple, it isn't pretty, but he makes her feel so amazingly satisfied. She's _satisfied_ with lying in bed all morning just cuddling, _satisfied_ with spending her days doing anything as long as it means getting to spend them with him, _satisfied_ with feeling like a normal, adored, love-struck young woman for once in her life.

"Hey," he murmurs, his breath teasing her neck, "you want serious? Then I am seriously crazy about you, Sarah Walker." He props himself up on an elbow, takes a deep breath before saying hurriedly, "And I know it's totally uncool to say that considering how long we've known each other, but I can't, Sarah, I can't pass this up without letting you know. There have been a lot of times in my life when I wanted to do something and didn't, because I was scared, or because I wasn't sure how someone would react, or because I just didn't realize what I really wanted. But here, with you, my heart is practically screaming at me to not screw this up. So I've just . . . I've gotta tell you that I'm crazy about you."

He swallows nervously, waiting for an answer, and it's all Sarah can do to comprehend the fact that her heart grows a little bit bigger every single second she spends in his company.

"Chuck . . ." she whispers, "I should warn you . . . You're giving your heart to a heartless woman."

A slight smile tugging at his lips, he reaches out to tuck her hair behind her ear. "I don't think that's true," he tells her. "A heartless woman wouldn't be warning me to stay away. A heartless woman wouldn't care about me enough to do that."

She's quiet for a minute, feeling her heart pound because he's looking at her with those eyes and his gaze is so intense that even she starts to believe that she's worth saving.

He lets her stew before prompting, "Would she?"

Frowning playfully, she says, "I'm starting to think that you're too smart for your own good. I don't usually date smartasses."

"No?" he laughs. "You prefer the strong and silent type then?"

"I think my type has changed," she smiles, pulling him back down and nuzzling into him. "So what do you want to do today?"

Chuck beams. "There's still a lot of Moscow to explore."

**But you've fallen in love in the worst way  
And if you don't go now then you'll stay  
'Cause I'll never let you leave, never let you breathe  
'Cause if you're looking for heaven, baby, it sure as hell ain't me**

For a guy who talks so much, Chuck's been strangely quiet since they arrived at the airport. She keeps her hand in his, because she's not really one for effusive, drawn-out goodbyes. The terminal is fairly crowded, but Sarah doesn't care about everyone around them. The only person she cares about is Chuck, sitting beside her, a forlorn look in his eyes.

"Will you do something for me?" she asks.

He turns to gaze at her, his expression softening. "Of course. Anything."

"Your software, I told Volkoff it didn't work. But the truth is that it could be very dangerous if he got his hands on it. So when you get home, the very first thing I want you to do is to take it to the NSA, a General Beckman. It'll be much safer in the hands of the American government, and she'll compensate you." She offers him a smile, sliding a hand to his neck. "Tell her I sent you."

"Okay," he nods, "okay, I can do that, sure."

"Good," she says softly, her thumb teasing at the curls at the back of his neck.

She's not meant for these moments, these moments of tough, meaningful decisions. She's a badass, to be sure, but not when it comes to matters of the heart. She can make the split-second choice during an op, when it comes down to life or death, but ask her to make a decision when her heart is on the line and she's completely lost, which is why she usually ends up making no decision at all.

Chuck, taking a deep breath, rests his forehead against hers. "Will I see you again?" he asks softly.

"I don't know, Chuck. I don't know."

He pulls away to smile ruefully at her. "You're not exactly one for effusive goodbyes, are you?"

"Not exactly, no," she tells him sheepishly. "Look, Chuck, I'm sorry I can't give you promises of what the future holds, or even that we have one. I'm just not that kind of girl. But before you leave, you should know that . . . I've never met someone quite like you, Chuck Bartowski." She presses a palm to his chest, over his heart. "And that you make me wish I could be better."

He smiles sadly before cupping her face in his hands and kissing her desperately. "Well, I'm pretty okay with the Sarah Walker in front of me right now, and if she ever changes her mind, then she knows where to find me."

He's sweet enough to leave it at that, to not press any further, even though they're both breaking inside.

**So walk away, walk away, walk away, oh  
Save yourself from the heartache, oh  
Go now before it's too late  
So walk away, walk away, walk away, oh  
Save yourself from the heartache, oh  
Go now before it's too late  
But still she stays**

"You don't look happy, Sarah," Volkoff muses, a surprising hint of pain in his voice.

"Sir?" is her only response.

She's sitting in his office, her mug of tea untouched on the desk. It's Spring now, but there's still a chill in the air, still a chill in her heart.

"Come, Sarah, don't play games with me. I don't like seeing you so upset. It's that boy, isn't it? The one from California?"

She stays silent, but she knows she can't hide from her boss's queries for long.

Volkoff frowns. "Sarah, darling, what have I been trying to teach you all these years? Please don't tell me that you _don't understand_. You're really too smart a young woman to use that excuse. And, really, you haven't touched your tea."

To oblige him, she takes a sip of the now cold green tea. "You've been teaching me to survive."

"Wrong!" he exclaims, pounding a fist on the desktop and rattling the china teapot. Immediately softening again, he continues, "We've been together eight years now, and all this time I've only been trying to teach you the value of _love_. Really, all the dirty money and all the power and all the yachts with their vintage ice cream parlors in the world don't mean a thing without someone to share them with."

Sarah lowers her gaze. She's thought about Chuck every single day – nearly every single minute – since they'd said goodbye. It breaks her heart to think about him – about his smile, about that something in the way he kissed her – until she remembered she wasn't supposed to have a heart at all. Still, she can't recall ever smiling since his departure.

"And loyalty?" she asks calmly. "Does that mean nothing to you?"

"Of course it means something to me," he dismisses with an irritated wave of his hand. "And unwavering loyalty such as yours should be rewarded, don't you think?"

She looks up quickly, holding his intense gaze, and stammers, "Wh-what exactly are you saying?"

"I'm saying that you're being a fool, Sarah. Why should you punish yourself like this when he's _proven himself_ to you?"

Sitting up straighter, she asks, "What do you mean?"

He's _gone_. How is that proving himself to her?

"My test, of course!" Volkoff laughs gleefully.

The _test_? That stupid test Frost had warned her about . . . But that must mean . . . She must have had it wrong. The test wasn't about _her loyalty_; it was about _his love_. In this life they lead, the question constantly on an operative's mind is whether their significant other – their spouse, their boyfriend or girlfriend, their one-night stand – can accept them for who they are, bloodstains and all. Volkoff hadn't been trying to suss out whether he could still depend on her; he was trying to determine if _Sarah_ could depend on _Chuck_.

Why hadn't she considered that? She'd made it all about her, like she always does. Volkoff hasn't questioned her loyalty since her second day of service; why would he start now? And he _has_ spent the past eight years looking out for her, has become almost like a father to her since her own got sent to prison.

She lets out a sigh. "It . . . it could be different now," she says softly. "It's been months. He could have a girlfriend; he could have moved on."

Volkoff twists his lips thoughtfully and looks at her for a long moment. "You know," he intones, "I've known you for a good long while now. I know your strengths, I know your moods, I know your habits. But I have never known you to be afraid. It's a little bit sad, actually, to see someone of your talents reduced to this state by simple fear of true affection."

Sarah is quiet for a minute, her bottom lip twitching nearly imperceptibly, until she whispers, "Do you think he's waiting for me?"

"There's no question of that, my dear."

Her decision is made in a split-second. Volkoff's pretty much given her permission; she needs nothing beyond that and a little reassurance, a little prodding. She stands abruptly.

"I have to go," she tells her boss. "I have to go."

"I know, I know! Isn't it wonderful?" he squees, clapping his palms together in delight. "Ah, the follies of young love."

"Wait," Sarah says, hesitating in front of the desk, "what about . . . my debt?"

They don't often talk about the past, don't often talk about how much she owes to this man. Their relationship has never been one heavily-weighted with conversation.

So she's surprised, and more than a little touched, when he stands up, walks around his desk, and wraps his arms around her shoulders. "Consider it paid, my girl." When he pulls away, he's grinning at her. "Now go get him. He's waiting for you."

**Yeah, but still she stays  
I'm saying walk away  
Yeah, I'm saying walk away  
Save yourself from the heartache,  
Go now before it's too late  
But still she stays  
Still she stays  
Yeah, she stays  
She stays . . .**

There's a fountain. She hadn't expected that. The apartment complex is elegant and sort of quaint, and she decides immediately that she likes it. His apartment is dark, the lights out and the blinds closed, so she takes a seat on the rim of the fountain to wait for him to come back. He doesn't know she's here, so surprising him at his home seemed like the least intrusive idea. She only hopes he recognizes her now that she's mostly reverted to her natural blonde.

She doesn't have to wait long before footsteps sound around the corner. But instead of Chuck appearing through the archway, it's a tall brunette in scrubs. Remembering his descriptions from a few months ago, she realizes that this must be Ellie.

"Hi," the brunette greets, surprised but perky. "Are you looking for someone?"

Sarah stands and walks forward with a small smile. "Yes, actually, I'm waiting for Chuck."

"Oh!" the doctor exclaims with a grin. "Well, I'm his sister, Ellie. I think he said he'd be working a bit late tonight, but he's due at my house for dinner in a little while. You're welcome to come inside and wait for him if you'd like."

"Thank you."

Ellie's apartment is spacious and homey, full of bright colors and comfy furniture and touches that make you feel welcome. When they get inside, they're greeted by Devon Woodcomb, Ellie's husband and another doctor. They're like a picture of perfection, so normal and wonderful that her heart actually begins to ache.

But Ellie is warm and endearing and about the nicest woman she's ever met. She banishes Devon out of the kitchen so he can set the table and make a last-minute run for beer and other supplies while the girls take over the kitchen.

"So how do you know my brother?" Ellie asks curiously as Sarah begins chopping vegetables for the salad.

"We met in, uh, Moscow," Sarah tells her, "while he was on a business trip a few months ago."

"Ah," Ellie grins, "so you're the reason he couldn't stop smiling for a whole three weeks after that trip."

An embarrassed but pleased smile comes unbidden to Sarah's face. She keeps her eyes on the carrots she's slicing as she queries nonchalantly, "Really?"

Laughing, Ellie says, "Come on, Chuck's one of those guys who's goes all in. You must have seen how happy he was over in Moscow."

"He did seem pretty happy," she muses.

"I know you didn't know him for very long," Ellie says, "but he's not . . . what he seems. He's not always happy-go-lucky, you know. He's not one of those guys who's let his success go to his head." She smiles. "He's one of the good ones."

Sarah looks up, well-aware of the gentle threat and the accompanying approval in Ellie's gaze. "I know," she confesses softly. "He really is."

Ellie occupies herself with preparing the chicken, but she makes no effort to hide her smirk. "So, Sarah, if you came all the way here, he must mean something to you as well."

She hesitates before answering, "Let's just say he's different than anyone I've ever met."

Ellie sets down the knife on the counter and turns to face her fully. "Look, I'm not sure what Chuck's told you about me –"

"All good things, believe me," Sarah interrupts quietly.

Ellie quirks a smile. "I can be a little meddling, I know, but I'm the only thing he's got, and I just want the best for him. I may not know very much about you, Sarah, but someone who can tell _that_ about him after only knowing him for a week . . . Well, she seems like she'd certainly be the best for him."

Sarah's heart swells. She hadn't been sure this had been the right decision, but receiving his sister's blessing gives her hope. "Thank you, Ellie," she murmurs quietly, going back to the vegetables.

They work in comfortable silence for a minute or two longer until the front door opens and Chuck strolls in, deposits his messenger bag on the couch, and hangs his jacket up on the hook behind the door. Sarah freezes, because, as much as she's thought about this moment, the prospect of facing him in person again still completely unnerves her.

Ellie shoots her a gleeful look before walking out into the living room to greet her brother. "Hey, Chuck," she says happily, "you're early."

"Yeah," he smiles, "sorry. I just needed to get out of the office. I thought you might need help with dinner."

"That was sweet of you. But I've got help."

Chuck, frowning, tilts his head in curiosity, and Ellie gives him a little push into the kitchen. Sarah tenses, sitting up straighter when he walks in. He stops at the sight of her, a bewildered expression on his face.

"S-Sarah?" he stammers quietly. "What are you doing here?"

"Your sister invited me for dinner," she tells him.

His face splits into a grin. "You came all the way from Russia for dinner? Seems like an awfully long flight just for that, even if it _is_ my sister's cooking."

Laughing, she gets up and envelopes him in a fierce hug. "There was maybe another incentive or two."

"Oh, really?" he asks, an eyebrow raised, snaking his lanky arms around her waist. "Well, for those . . . _other_ incentives, maybe you can be persuaded into staying a bit longer?"

"How long is 'a bit'?"

Chuck takes a deep breath and dips his head down to bury his nose in her hair. "Mmm . . . how about forever?"

She chuckles, suddenly light-hearted. She should have expected it, should have realized Chuck was just the type of guy to accept her reappearance in his life without question. "Sounds like a plan."

He picks his head up to regard her seriously. "One question though," he begins, and her heart drops. Maybe she'd misjudged him. But then he continues, "Is this your natural color? Because I must not have told you that I have a thing for brunettes."

She pulls back slightly to smack him on the shoulder. "Nice."

"But, of course, I could always be talked into making an exception," he grins, pulling her back to him.

And when he kisses her, she feels her heart melt. In his arms, she knows without a doubt that giving up her old life to start a new one with him is the smartest thing she's ever done.


	49. All That I Am

Song: "All That I Am," Parachute

A/N: Wowzers, another long 'un! Hope you enjoy it. Unfortunately, I'm setting this story to 'complete' for now. I would really have loved to end it at fifty chapters, but I'm just not going to have the time to finish it up just yet. Not sure what the immediate future holds, but I promise to get it done eventually. :)

I'd like to thank everyone for reading! Because this story has been going strong for three years, and that's mostly because of you for reviewing and being interested and being generally pretty awesome. :D This has been a blast for me, and I hope it has been for you as well.

* * *

"Boss."

Chuck turns to find himself face-to-face with Anna Wu, Pineapple Game's PR rep. "Hey, Anna. What's up?"

"Casey wants to see you. He said there's been some sort of security breach, but he wants to talk to you before he 'takes action,' he called it."

A frown on his face, he nods. If the message is from Casey, it explains why Anna is the messenger. She's the only one of his employees who isn't terrified of PG's Head of Security, a hulk of a man who communicates mostly in grunts. In turn, Anna seems to be the only other employee Casey can even tolerate.

"All right, thanks, Anna," he sighs. With the next game release just around the corner, he doesn't need to be dealing with a security breach. "I'll go see him now."

He begins to make his way down the hallway, only to be stopped by his VP, Bryce Larkin, as the shorter man steps out of his office.

"Chuckster!" Bryce greets with a grin. "I've been meaning to ask you all morning - how was the big date last night? She's a looker, isn't she?"

Chuck offers a tight-lipped smile. Bryce may be one of his best friends, but he has no sense of what Chuck wants in a relationship. He may not even grasp that he's looking for a relationship, as opposed to just a good time.

"Yeah," he begins, rubbing at the back of his neck, "I'm not sure she was my type."

"What are you talking about? She was a brunette - just how you like them!"

"She was . . ." Vapid is what she was. But somehow Chuck doesn't think Bryce would care about that detail. "She was a bit boring, that's all."

Bryce, lips pursed in frustration, lets out an exaggerated sigh. "All right, buddy, whatever you say. But I'll keep looking for you."

"Bryce, I'm fine," Chuck assures his friend. "I'm pretty sure I can find my own dates."

"You probably could," Bryce nods, "if you would try once in a while. But the problem is that you'll never come out with me!"

Laughing quietly, Chuck shakes his head and says, "All right, Bryce. I hate to cut this short, but I've gotta talk to Casey."

"Fine. But we'll continue this conversation later."

"Sure," Chuck accedes, sending a wave over his shoulder as he resumes his walk down the hall.

When he makes it to the opposite side of the lobby, he finds Casey already waiting for him outside the security office.

"What's up, Casey?" he asks. "Anna said you wanted to see me."

The big man nods. "We've had a security breach. I wanted to check with you before I took any action."

Chuck frowns slightly, because his Head of Security's notion of 'taking action' is much different than his own. Far from simply calling the police to take care of something, Casey would much rather deal with a problem himself. This can be a good thing, because it means PG gets things done with fewer speed bumps, but it can also be a bad thing, because Casey's interrogation preferences run more towards water boarding than the standard tough cop/silent cop routine.

"Sure," Chuck says. "What's the matter exactly?"

"Found a girl poking around. Couldn't get much out of her, but I don't trust her. Want me to eliminate her?"

"No, no, no! That's not necessary, totally _un_necessary in fact. There will be no . . . eliminations. But I thank you for your enthusiasm, Casey. Why don't we just, why don't I go talk to her first, and then we'll decide whether to call the police or not?"

"You want to talk to her?" he grunts.

"Yeah, that all right with you?"

Shrugging, Casey unlocks the door for him, stands by to let him pass in the security office, and holds out a small key in his hand, which Chuck takes and drops into his pocket as he walks inside. A woman sits opposite the desk, and he notices upon closer inspection the cuffs around her left wrist and the arm of the chair. He takes a seat behind the desk, taking a moment to study her as he settles in. She has long blonde hair, stunning blue eyes, a calm expression.

He leans forward and holds a hand out. "Hi, I'm Chuck."

She tilts her head a bit, but doesn't reach out to shake his hand. "Sarah."

"So," he begins slowly, taking his hand back, a little uncertain about how to approach this. She certainly doesn't look like someone out to get him, out to get the company; there's certainly no guilt in her manner. "I hear you met Casey. He's a bit of a hardass, isn't he?"

Her mouth twitches in something very close to an amused smile. "Just a bit maybe," she replies, "but I've seen tougher."

"Well, no matter what you did, or tried to do, I don't think the cuffs are necessary."

He withdraws the handcuff key from his pocket and slides it across the table. She regards it warily for a moment before snatching it up and making quick work of the lock. Once her wrist is free, she deposits the handcuffs and the key on the table between them.

She doesn't seem inclined to speak, though, so he says, "Casey said he found you acting suspiciously, but you don't look like a thief, or a spy, or anything like that. So, you wanna tell me why you're so interested in Pineapple Games?"

She stares at the table, keeps her mouth in a tight, grim line.

Chuck, sighing, sets his hands on the chair arms. "Fine. You don't need to tell me. But be careful out there, okay? Not everyone you meet is as big a softie on the inside as Casey is."

There's something about her, something that starts him worrying about her getting in over her head. He doesn't know what her game is, what sort of life she leads, but he hopes like hell she knows what she's doing.

Standing up, he places his business card on the table. "If you need anything, just . . ." He shrugs. "Well, don't be afraid to call."

He turns to leave but stops at the sound of her voice.

"Wait."

When he turns back to face her, she's staring at the card between her fingers. "I don't understand," she says softly.

She lifts her gaze to his, and his chest tightens. He knows nothing about this woman beyond her name, but he can see that she is unused to such kindness, and the realization breaks his heart.

"You're free to go," he explains. "Sort of a strike one kind of thing. But, just to warn you, Casey's the kind of guy to only give two strikes, so . . ."

She nods, still stunned, and he hears a whispered 'thank you' as he strides into the hallway.

**Well, the lights go down in Brooklyn  
As she's walking out the door  
Oh, they're lining up like soldiers  
Going off to fight the war  
And all the colors look like fireworks  
In skies she knew before**

Chuck nearly doesn't hear his cell phone ring thanks to the noise of the party. He glances around as he fishes it from his coat pocket, glad of the excuse to step outside for a moment. He doesn't recognize the number, but any distraction is a good one. Squeezing his way through the crowd, he answers the call as he steps onto the balcony.

"Hello?"

There's a moment of silence from the other end before a woman's voice says, "Chuck?"

"Yeah. Yeah, this is Chuck. Can I help you?"

"Um, you may not remember me, but . . . this is Sarah, from your office a few weeks ago."

He lets out a small chuckle at the idea of forgetting a woman like her. "Of course I do. How are you?"

"Well, I was wondering if you'd be willing to do me a favor."

Which is how he ends up leaving the party he's supposed to be at for the downtown police station. Since he's Charles Bartowski, head of PG, the processing is very quick, and he only has to wait a few moments for her to be released. A smile comes to his face when she walks out, dressed in tall heels and a short red dress.

"So," he greets, "I thought we'd know each other a bit better before I got the old 'bail money' call."

"You've gotten them before?" she queries curiously.

"Yeah, well, you haven't met my friend Morgan yet."

Sarah takes a deep breath. "Well, I am sorry for this. But thank you for coming."

"Not a problem. In fact, I should thank you for getting me out of this ridiculous party I was at."

Frowning, she posits, "You really hate those things, don't you?"

"Yeah, but maybe that's a story for another time. Wanna grab some coffee? I think there's a good café a few blocks down." She nods, and he takes off his jacket to slide around her bare shoulders. "It's a little chilly outside."

She accepts the jacket gratefully, is still wearing it when they arrive at the café.

She's quiet as they find a corner booth and sit, but after they order coffees, she asks softly, "Why _did_ you come?"

"What do you mean?" he asks.

"Not that I'm not grateful, because I am. I just . . . We met once. I wasn't really sure you'd come."

He purses his lips contemplatively. "Well, why'd you call, if you didn't think I would come?"

She gives him a small shrug, and he can't help but smile at how adorable she looks in his suit jacket. "You were really nice to me a couple weeks ago, and you seemed . . . genuine, not like a lot of people I meet. And certainly not what I expected from someone like you."

"Someone like me?" he laughs.

"You know what I mean," she replies with a grin. "You're a millionaire software designer _and_ one of LA's most eligible bachelors. Why would you ever give a second thought to a woman who tried to steal from you?" More softly, almost embarrassedly, she adds, "Plus, I thought I saw something, that day you let me go. I believed the guy I met that day would help me. I only needed to see if you really were that guy."

They regard each other wonderingly for a moment before she insists, "I'll pay you back, of course. It'll take a little time, but I swear I will."

"Don't worry about it," he waves her off. "It's a favor for a friend, not a loan."

She nods. "Of course. Something like this must be pocket change to a guy like you."

"Will you stop saying 'a guy like me', please?" he smiles. "I'm not a Cylon."

Tilting her head, she asks, "A what?"

Chuck's eyes go wide with surprise. "Oh, my God. You've never seen _Battlestar Galactica_?"

He's about to launch into a spiel about the show's awesomeness when the waitress comes over to take their orders and he begins to think better of it. Maybe he shouldn't scare her off just yet.

"So what's your story anyways?"

"My story?" she parrots.

"Yeah, I mean, between a few weeks ago at PG and tonight, I'm beginning to think that you're not in the best of businesses. Surely there are some more . . . savory occupations you could look into. So what's keeping you tied to this?"

She takes a deep breath, her lips twisting, and says, "Let's just say it's in my blood."

"What, exactly?" he presses gently.

Sarah levels a cautious gaze at him, a hint of sadness hidden behind those blues eyes. But after a moment, she says challengingly, "I'm a con artist. My father taught me everything I know."

He knows he should be shocked, knows she's trying to scare him off or get him to admit that she's not what he thought, but, faced with the sight of her all dressed up for a night out and yet with his suit jacket slung over her shoulders like they've known each other for more than the short time they have, he suddenly knows that he's not going anywhere.

"So, that day at the office . . ."

"I was doing recon, yes," she admits.

They're quiet for a minute as the waitress brings their coffee. "Well, I haven't seen you there again," he prompts.

"No, Chuck," she tells him quietly, "you should know that my plans to con Pineapple Games changed after that day."

He wraps his hands around the coffee mug, feeling the heat through the ceramic. "Tonight, then, that was what? That was another con? You didn't get caught, did you?"

"No, no," she assures him, taking a sip of coffee. "I'm just . . . between jobs at the moment, you can say, and I got a little . . . sloppy."

As he watches her sip her coffee, Chuck is struck by an idea, a perfect way for them to both get what they want. He'll get a break from being fixed up on dates, from being questioned by the media about his dating habits, from wondering whether the girls he goes out with like him for who he is or simply because of his success. And she'll get enough money to keep her out of the family business for good.

"Do you want to be my girlfriend?" he blurts. "I mean, I'd pay you, of course. And it wouldn't be forever. Just a few months."

Calmly, she sets down her mug. "You think . . . I'm not . . ." She trails off with a disappointed sigh, and he suddenly understands.

"Oh! No!" he exclaims, grimacing at his poor communication. "That's not what I meant at all. I should have explained it better. I'm so, so sorry. I meant fake girlfriend. Totally fake. Nothing remotely real about this relationship. More of a . . . business transaction."

An amused glint in her eye, she asks, "A fake girlfriend? Why do you need a fake girlfriend? Is there something wrong with me as a real girlfriend?"

This is the moment he realizes that his plan maybe was not as brilliant as he first imagined.

"Of course not," he assures her anxiously, but relaxes a little when she begins to laugh softly at his awkwardness. Smiling now, he continues, "I only meant that you're obviously out of my league, and that a fake relationship would benefit us both."

"Okay . . . Explain."

The waitress brings their pancakes, and Sarah digs in as she waits for him to clarify.

He clears his throat, second guessing himself for the fifth time in as many minutes. But she looks up from her plate expectantly, and he says, "Well, I sort of get bothered a lot, by the media, even by my friends and family, about why I don't date more often. But I'm naturally nervous around women, and . . . it's just tough to meet girls who like me for me, you know?"

Sarah nods, a knowing smile on her lips. "So by fake dating me, it would get all these people off your back for a while, and you'd have more time to do what it is you really enjoy, like actually run your company?"

"That would be a benefit, yes."

"So what about me? What do I get out of this fake relationship?"

"Uh, well, yeah," he stammers, unsure of how to couch this part, "the thing is, you seem a bit strapped. I thought monetary compensation . . . Or, something else can be arranged if you're not comfortable with that. Whatever you want, really. Free copies of every Pineapple game that has ever come out and ever will come out if you want." He gives her a lopsided smile, thinking that he'd be getting off easy if she asked for that.

She takes another sip of coffee before saying, "Monetary compensation will be fine. How much were you thinking?"

"So you'll do it?" he queries incredulously.

She shrugs. "I don't have anything else lined up, and it sounds . . . sort of fun."

"Great! That's great. I was thinking about fifty a month?"

"How many months?"

"Say, three."

"And what would my duties involve?"

Chuck frowns thoughtfully. He hadn't really gotten very far in his planning. "Well, normal girlfriend stuff, I suppose. Family dinners about once a week. Evenings with Morgan, which involve mostly movie marathons, but also a little video gaming. Of course, it'd be for the cover, so we'd have to date in public. Parties. Definitely some parties, galas, benefits, things like that. In other words, a few dates a week, always with witnesses. But you wouldn't have to spend any time alone with me or pretend to like me outside of . . . outside of business hours."

"Okay," she nods. "That sounds reasonable."

She's very calm about all this, and he sort of wonders if she's done this before, then stops himself.

But then she says, "Wait. What about PDA?"

"Oh," he muses a little uncomfortably, "well, I don't think that'll be a problem. I'm not really big on public displays of anything really. We can get away with a few pecks, some handholding, _maybe_ some cuddling. And there'll be gifts every once in a while, of course, on par with where our fake relationship is." She smiles teasingly, and he continues, "Right, then. Shall we shake on it?"

Her blue eyes sparkling with mischief, she leans forward across the table and plants a brief, soft kiss on his lips. As she settles back in the booth, she says, "There. Now we've sealed it."

When they've finished eating, it's nearly one o'clock in the morning and he finds himself not wanting to go.

When the waitress brings the check, Sarah pushes it toward him and teases, "Maybe you can start your boyfriend duties by picking up the bill," and he finds that he's looking forward to spending the next few months with this woman.

**But the night can't hide the days  
That the tears roll down her face  
Oh, and the light hits those eyes  
As she's dying to say  
Just take me away**

Chuck's breath catches in his throat, his eyes widen, and his knees feel momentarily like jelly as Sarah pushes the sliding doors open and emerges from the bathroom. She's in a salmon-colored dress that falls to just past her knees, and her hair is loose, falling in waves around her shoulders. She strolls over to him in her bare feet, a smile gracing her lips as she puts her fingers beneath his chin to snap his mouth closed.

"You, you're gorgeous," he manages to stammer though his throat feels like sand.

"Thank you," she replies, eyes downcast as she straightens his tie and brushes invisible wrinkles out of his tuxedo jacket. "You're not so bad yourself." Just noticing his black Chuck Taylor high tops, she adds with a chuckle, "I especially like the shoes."

He waggles his toes. "Yeah? Ellie's not really a fan, but they're so comfortable. I've got a pair of dress shoes in the limo if you think I should change."

"No, don't. They're very you," she assures him as she uses his shoulder for balance to slip into her heels.

It feels almost real, her ease around him, and it lights an ache in his chest that he hadn't anticipated. Nodding, he stuffs his hands into his trouser pockets, and the black velvet box in his right pocket brings him back to his senses.

Pulling the box out, he tells her, "Well, hey, I almost forgot, but this is for you."

"Chuck, you really didn't have to do that," she replies, nevertheless accepting it graciously.

"I wanted to," he shrugs. "I figured you should have something to commemorate our first fake date by. Besides, I'm only trying to fulfill the gift clause of the contract."

His chuckle dies out as he gazes at her. She's opened the jewelry box, her eyes now fixated on the sun-shaped necklace.

"I know it's a bit much," he explains, feeling his palms start to sweat, "but I've been accused of worse before – you know, big gestures, smothering – and I figured I should continue the streak."

His nerves are getting the better of him, and he knows it, but Sarah simply looks up and says, "No, it's lovely. Thank you. Will you . . . ?"

She holds up the necklace for him, and he reaches out to take it. "Oh, yeah, sure."

Spinning around, she gathers her hair to one side so he can place the delicate chain around her neck. She's close enough now for him to smell her vanilla shampoo, her perfume. The scents intoxicate him. His fingers are shaking as he secures the clasp, and boldly he grazes his knuckles across her bare shoulder as he pulls his hand away.

They lock eyes in the mirror, and he rests a hand on her shoulder as he says, "I thought it could remind you, on your darker days, that you still have a lot of reasons to shine."

She lowers her eyes to look at the sparkling necklace in the mirror, but lifts a hand to cover his fingers with her own.

"Thank you," she says softly before spinning around and leading him out of the room.

Their hands are still entwined when they arrive at the party and the flashbulbs start to go off.

**Well, the fog it sits like blankets  
And it's drowning out the glow  
You can hear voices loud and singing out  
A song nobody knows  
But to her it sounds like home**

"So, Sarah," Ellie begins innocently enough, but Chuck can feel the interrogation coming on, "tell us about yourself."

Devon, sitting across from his girlfriend with a grin on his face, intones, "Yeah, the Chuckster doesn't bring many girls home, so you'll have to forgive us for being curious."

Sarah, to her credit, takes everything in stride. This is their first family dinner, and although she'd met Ellie and Awesome and Morgan at the party last week, it hadn't provided them much chance for getting to know each other. Ellie has jumped upon tonight's opportunity for grilling her, not even waiting until dessert to start firing questions.

"There's not much to tell," Sarah tells them. "I'm a San Diego girl, but I went to college out East. Since then, I've sort of been bouncing from place to place, job to job, figuring out what I want from life."

"So what do you do now?" Ellie asks, and Chuck chokes a bit on his chicken.

Sarah shoots him a calming smile before looking at his sister and answering, "Well, I'm sort of between jobs at the moment."

"That's cool," Devon replies. "Nothing like a good bit of soul searching and relaxation to clear your mind."

"Yeah," Morgan chimes in as he heaps another serving of mashed potatoes onto his plate. "That's what I did for _years_ after high school, and look how well I turned out."

"You're still at the Buy More, Morgan," Ellie says, not amused.

"By choice, Eleanor. By choice."

Rolling her eyes, Ellie returns her attention to her brother's new girlfriend. "So what about your family? Are they still in San Diego?"

"Ellie," Chuck pleads, feeling a blush rise to his cheeks, "can you maybe cool it with the interrogation? She may never come back."

Sarah places a hand on his knee. "It's all right, Chuck, really. The truth is there's not a lot to tell there either. My mother left when I was nine, and my sister wanted to go with her. I haven't spoken to either of them in eighteen years. I stayed with my dad. We traveled a lot. And it turns out he wasn't as great a guy as I thought he was, because he was arrested my senior year of high school."

"Oh, Sarah, I'm so sorry," Ellie sighs.

Chuck puts a hand over hers where it rests on his knee and squeezes her fingers gently. He's not sure what to think. After all, he barely knows anything about her, and she _is_ pretending to be his girlfriend. Her whole profession is lying. Maybe this is all just a character's backstory. But as he studies her face – the expression calm but the eyes hiding a hint of sadness – as he feels the reciprocating squeeze of her hand, he somehow knows that this is closer to her than he's been so far.

"No, it's fine," Sarah assures them with a smile. "It was a long time ago. So, Chuck tells me that you're a neurologist."

As the conversation veers into safer territory, Sarah keeps her fingers entwined with his. Later, when they've escaped to the porch for a little breathing room, he stands a few feet behind her as she gazes up at the stars.

"Was that true?" he questions softly.

She turns in the glow of the porch light, and he marvels at how lovely she looks in the moonlight, how lovely she is in any circumstance.

She takes a sip of beer before asking, "Was what true?"

He thrusts a fist into his jeans pocket, suddenly uncomfortable. Maybe he shouldn't pry, maybe he should trust her more instead of calling her sincerity into question. Then again, he's always been too inquisitive for his own good.

"That stuff about your family, was it all true?"

She leans back against the railing with a sight. "You already know that my father was a con artist. He was a damn good one, too, until he got in over his head and messed with the wrong people."

"He's really in jail?"

She nods. "Arrested right before I graduated from high school."

"I'm so sorry."

Shrugging him off, she tells him, "It's okay. I've had nine years to come to terms with it, and he left me enough savings to go to college like I'd planned."

He can only imagine how much of that savings was dirty money, but he takes a swig of beer and asks, "Have you been to see him?"

Sarah shakes her head. "I'm following in my father's footsteps, but that doesn't mean I have to thank him for it."

"You had a chance to escape though," he frowns.

"I tried normal life for a while, in college. But after I graduated, I decided it wasn't for me. I couldn't settle, couldn't do the same thing day in and day out. I felt like the life was being sucked right out of me. So I turned down a job offer and found my own way."

"And you've never once looked back? Never once just wanted to slow down for a while? Be in the same place for more than a few weeks?"

"It just . . . it wasn't really _me_."

She sounds nearly desperate, and he knows exactly how she feels. He knows what it's like to try to be someone other than exactly who you are.

"So," he smiles, "are you going to go mad while you're stuck in Burbank for three months because of me?"

Grinning back at him, Sarah grabs a fistful of his shirt, pulls him toward her, and snakes her arms around his waist.

"I assure you," she murmurs, "I won't be going anywhere for a while."

He settles his arms comfortably around her, feels her head upon his chest, and stifles the misgiving within him. If she has no complaints about this arrangement, then he certainly has no right to complain, given that it was his brilliant idea. Besides, it hasn't even been two weeks. He should give this time to shake out and see where it leads.

For now, he'll pretend to be her boyfriend, pretend he could ever be good enough for her. But here, with his arms around her, he doesn't have to pretend to be happy.

**But the nights can't hide the days  
That the tears roll down her face  
And the light hits those eyes  
As she's dying to say  
Just take me away from all that I am**

Chuck freezes when he walks into his bedroom and sees Sarah sitting on the bed, wrapped in a black trenchcoat, her legs tugged up under her.

"Hey . . ." he greets tentatively. "Did we, uh, did we have plans tonight?"

He doesn't remember making date plans, and he certainly wasn't expecting her, given that he's already dressed in a t-shirt and sweats even though it can't be much later than 9 PM.

"No," she smiles, "but I wanted to come over. I hope that's okay."

"Yeah, sure, sure," he nods. "So what's up?"

A wicked gleam in her eye, she slides gracefully off the bed and saunters over to him. "Well, we've been 'dating' for over two months now. I thought it was time I spent the night, don't you think?"

He opens and closes his mouth wordlessly, and his eyes widen as she tugs gently at her coat belt. She shrugs off the coat to reveal a sexy black teddy, and he gulps.

"S-Sarah," he gasps, taking a step back, "you have _got_ to be kidding me. What are you wearing?"

She looks down at her outfit. "What, this? Come on, Chuck, this is exactly what a girlfriend would wear to seduce her boyfriend." A gleam in her eye, she adds, "I'm just being professional."

"Yeah, the world's oldest profession," he mutters before thinking about what he's saying.

Sarah places her hands on her hips. "Gee, Chuck, what crawled up your ass today? I'm only trying to help you out. I thought it'd be good for the cover. But if you want me to leave, then I will. Although try explaining that one to your sister and Awesome."

Sighing, he walks over to roll back the covers and climb into bed. "I'm sorry," he tells her gently. "I didn't mean you had to go."

He shouldn't be so upset about this. Really, he's the one who's gotten himself into this pitiful situation. He can't blame her for not knowing about his patchy history with women. It's not as if he's spilt his secrets about how many times he's been cheated on, or used, or thrown over for someone cooler, or with more money. The whole reason he'd suggested this deal was so he could have a reprieve from that hellish world called dating, and Sarah's been everything he's asked. So no, he definitely shouldn't be taking out his frustrations on her.

He feels like he should apologize again but is scared off by her sulking glare as she slides into the other side of the bed, folds her arms, and leans back against the headboard.

There's a tense silence for a moment or two, during which he fidgets with the edge of the duvet, until he says quietly, "I'm not just some loser who can't get laid, you know."

"What?" she asks, her expression immediately softening as she turns to look at him. "No, I know that, of course I do. Why would you even say that?"

"I'm just," he begins with a frown, shrugging awkwardly, "I'm just not like Bryce, you know? He's completely comfortable with all this attention, with all these women we're surrounded by. I just haven't learned that yet."

She levels a frustrated gaze at him and places a hand on his arm. "Listen to me, Chuck, I never want to hear you compare yourself to Bryce Larkin. He may have his few qualities, but he's certainly no Chuck Bartowski. And yeah, Chuck, I think I get it. You're a _nice_ guy, and you've been thrown into a world where people aren't nice, where you can never really figure out their true intentions. It's hard enough to find someone genuine when you're not famous. I can only imagine what you have to go through all the time." She gives him a supportive smile and squeezes his arm. "So don't ever apologize for that."

His lips quirk into a small smile. "Well, since you're here, wanna watch a movie?"

Her lifestyle hasn't exactly encouraged an interest in movies, or any sort of pop culture really, so he's been using their time together to educate her on the finest cinema has to offer, which of course means a lot of '80s sci-fi and slacker movies.

"Sure," she chuckles lightly.

"Great. What are you in the mood for?"

"Mmm . . . something romantic."

"Romantic. Got it," he nods, slipping out of bed to peruse his DVD shelf for something she'd like. Once he locates one, he holds it up for her. "How do we feel about _The Princess Bride_?"

"Never seen it, but it looks . . . interesting."

He pops it into the player and settles in to watch. He finds watching movies with her comfortable, because she's not a big talker but he still can tell she's enjoying them. Tonight, she's quiet, but smiling.

It's not until the movie's over and he's lent her a t-shirt to wear that they finally settle down to sleep. He curls to the edge of the bed, away from her, and closes his eyes. Sarah tosses for a little while before finally settling in. He's starting to drift off when he's aroused by the sound of her voice.

"I hate it when you talk like that, you know," she says, sounding irritated, a bit irrationally he thinks considering he's just introduced her to one of the greatest movies of all time.

"Like what?" he asks softly.

"Like Bryce is better than you," she tells him, and he can just imagine the scowl darkening her face. "Because it isn't true."

He smiles against his pillow. "Thank you."

She shifts again, her back to his now, and murmurs, "Night, Chuck."

"Night, Sarah."

**Just take me away from all that I am**

When he awakes, he takes a deep, refreshing breath only to be assaulted by the scent of vanilla. It overwhelms him, knocking him off base for a moment until the events of the previous night come back to him in a rush. He opens his eyes. His chest is pressed tight to her back, one arm curved around her torso. Moving without waking her is impossible.

Indeed, when he attempts to shift away from her, she jerks awake with a sudden inhalation. He doesn't chance to react before she flips over to face him, their noses inches apart, close enough that he can feel the warm puff of her breath against his upper lip.

A more confident man, a man like Bryce would know exactly what to do. But he's not Bryce. He's just Chuck Bartowski, and Chuck Bartowski has no idea how to proceed in this situation, no idea how he even arrived here. Sarah's eyes are brimming with something he can't quite identify – affection or hope or recklessness maybe. Terrified, he pulls away from her, because he's just not that guy. She deserves a guy who's exciting, a guy who's dangerous, a guy who can set her pulse on fire just by stepping into the room.

"I should, I should go shower," he stammers, sliding out of the opposite side of the bed. "Or, do you want to go first?"

He's already grabbing a t-shirt and jeans from his dresser, but when he turns back around, she's sitting up with her back to him.

"No, it's fine," she says. "I'll go get some breakfast."

"Okay, then," he breathes before heading for the bathroom.

He spends a little too much time brushing his teeth and showering, a little too long getting a grip as he stares at his reflection in the foggy mirror. He hates having to remind himself that this relationship isn't remotely real, that Sarah's just acting in front of everyone, that her waking up in his arms was just an accident. He hates it, but he does it anyway, because no one else is going to help him draw the line between real and fake. At least there are only three weeks left. But that thought simply depresses him even further.

He's still toweling his hair dry when he slumps down the hallway and into the kitchen, only to stop short at the sight of Sarah, clad in only one of his old Stanford t-shirts that comes down to mid-thigh, standing with her back to him as she hovers over the stove.

He gulps, his eyes raking over her involuntarily, and jumps when Awesome booms, "Morning, Chuckster!"

It's then that he notices his sister and her boyfriend sitting at the counter on the living room side, a plate of pancakes in front of each of them.

Ellie beams at him. "Sarah's making us pancakes."

"Sarah's cooking?" he asks, eyebrow raised.

She turns around, spatula in hand, to throw him a grin. The tension between them from just a half-hour ago has completely dissipated.

"Now, now," she responds, a saucy look in her eyes, "don't go scaring them. You've never even tasted my cooking."

He chuckles, "True, but through no fault of my own. I've cooked for you . . . three times now?"

The spatula waves erratically as she replies, "Yes, three times you've _tried_ to cook for me, and three times we've ended up ordering take-out instead."

She's shaking with laughter as she leans into him, ruffling his still-damp curls.

"Sometimes I hate that you have such a good memory," he teases. "Does the thought count for nothing anymore?"

Giving him a swift peck on the lips, she assures him, "Of course, sweetie. In your case, the thought counts for everything."

It's easier now, now that they have an audience, easy for them to pretend to be lovers instead of being alone and forced to acknowledge the thing under the fake relationship thing.

"So," he begins, peering over her shoulder to the stack of pancakes on the counter, "are those for me?"

"Mmm, of course. Let me get you a plate."

He grabs some juice from the fridge, pours two glasses for them, and takes a seat across from his sister, who is staring at him with a smug grin.

"What?" he queries.

"Lock it out, bro," Devon says as he holds out a fist. "First time Sarah's stayed over. _Nice_."

Somewhat reluctantly, Chuck knocks fists with him as Ellie gives her boyfriend a soft shove.

"Devon," she reprimands in a low voice.

Awesome holds up his hands in defense, fork grasped in his right. "What? I'm just saying, it's been a long time since Chuck's been out on a second date, let alone made it to past the two-month mark in a relationship."

"Gee, thanks, Devon, for pointing that out," Chuck sighs as he takes up the syrup.

Luckily, Sarah joins them before the conversation can go any further, sliding into the seat beside him and promptly stealing a slice of bacon from his plate.

"So, do you two have any plans for today?" Ellie asks, smirking as she looks between the two of them.

Chuck and Sarah exchange a glance before he says, "Uh, no. We hadn't discussed anything. Why? What's up?"

Shrugging, Ellie tells them, "We have the day off. We were thinking about going to the beach. Want to join us?"

Chuck nearly chokes on his orange juice, unable to wipe the image of Sarah in a bathing suit from his mind, and Sarah takes advantage of his momentary inability to speak to answer them.

She grins. "We'd love to."

**Well, the fog sits like blankets  
And it smothers the glow**

Chuck breathes in the salty ocean air, laughing as he watches Devon, Ellie, and Sarah out in the water. Sarah had coaxed him into the ocean earlier, but he's opted to stay on the sand for a little while, to dry off and to simply take a break. Sarah looks remarkably at ease with his family, and the thought inexplicably saddens him. She's doing exactly what he's hired her to do, yet her constant nearness is beginning to confuse things rather than make them easier.

Letting out a sigh, he lies back on his towel and flings an arm across his eyes. The sun is bright, dazzlingly warm, and he's close to dozing off when he feels drops of water fall onto his exposed chest. He looks up, squinting in the sunlight, to see Sarah standing above him and wringing out her wet hair. She's in a dark green bikini that shows off her tanned, toned body.

"Hey, hey, hey!" he laughs, holding his hands up. "What's the big idea?"

"What do you think you're doing, sitting over here all by yourself?"

"I _was_ enjoying the sun," he laughs, "but it seems to have begun to rain."

She grabs his hands and pulls him to his feet. "Come on! No sitting around."

"I just got out the water," he protests as she drags him toward the waves.

"Fine," she says, spinning to face him. "Then take a walk with me?"

He nods, and she keeps her hand in his as she leads him down the shoreline.

"Did you put some more sunscreen on?" she asks, studying him for any signs of burgeoning sunburn.

"No," he tells her, "I will when I dry off."

"You better," she warns. "I don't want you to get burned." When he rolls his eyes, he gets a playful shove in the shoulder. Laughing, she says, "I'm serious. You're too fair from all that time you spend indoors playing video games."

"You're starting to sound like Ellie," he chuckles.

Sarah shrugs, swinging their linked hands between them, and smiles, "I'm just being a good . . . friend."

"Sure," he says, letting the comment slide as he sneaks a glance at their entwined fingers. He clears his throat, and they stroll in silence for a few moments, the surf washing gently over their feet. "You know, about that . . . friend thing . . ." he says tentatively.

She looks up to regard him thoughtfully, a tiny smile lighting her eyes. She has a curious way of simply taking him in, watching him or listening to him, just staying quiet to drink in his presence. These moments make him self-conscious, make him question his convictions about her.

Gathering his courage, he begins, "Well, I was just thinking . . . three weeks left, huh?"

Eyes on the sand, she nods. "Three weeks."

"Have you, uh, do you like it? Do you like LA?" He reaches up to scratch the back of his head, averting his gaze from her to try to avoid the awkwardness. But this conversation has already descended into the awkward, thanks to him, of course.

Grinning, Sarah replies, "I like it. I like it here."

"Yeah?" he asks, eyebrows raised.

"Yes," she confirms with a nod, "I do. I like . . . the weather and the night life and the way everything seems brighter than anywhere else. And the people. I like the people, too."

A smile springs to his face. "I'm glad." When she makes no show of answering beyond another nod, he clears his throat again and says, "I know it's probably been driving you crazy, having to stick around in the same city for more than a few weeks."

Sarah offers a shrug. "The thing I never realized about staying in one place is that you can't really get a feel for a city if you spend the whole time thinking about your next move. You can only start to understand it when you have the right person to show you around, to share its secrets."

Chuck's heart lifts at her words, and he has the courage to say, "You don't have to go, you know." Suddenly nervous again, he adds, "That is, if you don't, if you don't want to."

She looks up at him. "You mean, make our agreement six months instead of three?"

He lets out a long sigh. That hadn't been exactly what he was thinking. But another three months is another three months to spend time with her, and maybe that's enough.

"Yeah," he breathes, "yeah, that could work. Would you, would you be okay with that?"

"It'd give you a chance to finally take me to a Dodgers game like you've been promising," she smirks.

Laughing, he holds up his free hand in surrender. "I'm sorry, okay? Maybe if you wouldn't keep selling off my days off to my sister, then I'd have the time."

"Maybe if you didn't work so much, you'd have the time," she retorts, and he marvels at how closely this conversation resembles an actual couple's argument.

"If I didn't work so much, I wouldn't have the money to take you to baseball games."

"Fine," she laughs, "you win. But if that's what you're worried about, then I'll treat. So how does Tuesday sound for you?"

He shakes his head, a smile still on his face. Sarah Walker certainly has a way about her. "Tuesday it is."

"It's a date then," she confirms with a laugh before pulling him by the hand into the waves.

'**Cause the nights can't hide the days  
That the tears roll down her face  
Oh, and the light hits those eyes  
As she's dying to say**

"What do you think?" Chuck asks as he exits the dressing room.

He's needed a new suit for a while now, and Sarah's finally dragged him out shopping. Right now, he's trying on a black Armani with a red button-down and a gray vest. He's never had much interest in clothes, but he often needs to dress nicely for parties, and he has to admit that this suit feels pretty darn good.

Sarah tilts her head in scrutiny. "Turn around please," she requests with a smile, motioning with her hand.

Chuck spreads his arms and executes a spin. "Well?"

"How's it feel?" she asks, stepping forward to pick some invisible lint from his shoulder and smooth his vest.

Smiling, he lets out a deep breath. "It feels awesome."

"Well," she says, straightening his tie now, "you certainly look the part of a millionaire software entrepreneur."

"Feel it, too," he grins. "I have to say, I never put much thought into it before, but wearing this actually makes me feel like . . . like I'm on top of the world." When her face falls, he asks, "Hey, what's the matter?"

She flattens her palms against his chest and looks up at him. "Just, my father always taught me that any bad con artist can look the part, but it takes the best con artist to _be_ the part."

He thinks he gets what she's trying to say to him. She's telling him that the clothes don't make the man, that his new Armani suit doesn't make him any less Chuck Bartowski.

"You know," he begins, cautiously placing his hands on her hips, "this suit may help me to fit in at all the events I have to go to, but the truth is, that's never going to be who I am. I'm always going to be a pizza and video games guy."

"Good," she smiles, leaning up to press a quick kiss to his lips, for the benefit of the surrounding employees he imagines. "Because I much prefer playing _Rock Band_ to hanging out with a bunch of boring celebrities. Now let's go see if we can find you a handkerchief."

His eyes follow her as she wanders off toward the brightly colored pocket squares, the morning sunlight glinting off his necklace around her neck, and his shoulders sag in a deep sigh. Being with her – spending entire days in her company, letting her take him shopping, introducing her to his favorite movies and books and games – it's beyond his wildest dreams. But every time she holds his hand, every time she kisses him, he's reminded of how fake this all is. An irrepressible ache has settled upon his soul, growing with each passing day, because he's in love with a woman who is merely pretending to care for him, who is paid to show him affection.

A tiny part of him can't believe he was ever stupid and idiotic enough to come up with this plan, and a larger part berates himself for not having the guts to just ask her out in the first place. If he had, this may all have been real, and the sweet misery in his chest would just be sweetness.

Maybe extending this to six months was a bad idea. It's barely been four and already he's going insane around her.

Across the room, Sarah looks over her shoulder to quirk an eyebrow at him and pull him back to his senses. A little flirtatiously, she asks, "Going to make me wait all day, Bartowski?"

He plasters a smile on his face. He wouldn't dare make her wait one single second, if only she were really asking.

**That the nights can't hide the days  
Whoa, that the tears roll down her face  
Oh, and the light hits those eyes as she's dying to say  
Just take me away from all that I am**

Sarah runs her fingers soothingly through his hair. They're sitting at the top of a hill, the remains of an afternoon picnic around them. The sun shines down on them brightly, a light breeze ruffling through the air. The day is beautiful, their view is beautiful, but Chuck has an ache in his chest that won't dissipate.

It's the last day of their agreement. Tomorrow, she'll be on a plane to Jakarta, or Buenos Aires, or London, anywhere she wants to go. She'll find someone new, find another job to fill her schedule, and she'll forget about him, the awkward software designer who never even had the courage to ask her out for real.

They've been silent for so long that Sarah's voice startles him when she finally speaks.

"So what's our story?" she asks quietly.

He opens his eyes to look up at her, but her gaze is directed toward the valley. Luckily, he's already had this figured out for over a week now. "I'll tell them I had this big, romantic date planned for our six-month anniversary, and that it was just too soon for you. You got freaked and wanted some time off."

"Time off?" she asks. "Isn't that a little open-ended?"

"Well, by the time they start asking questions, you'll be gone and I can tell them that we're over for good. I thought it'd soften the blow a little."

"So this big, romantic gesture," she smiles, "that wouldn't have anything to do with the hot air balloon ride we took this morning?"

Grinning, he gives a little shrug and says, "Well, you know, I wanted you to have the full experience, in case you were ever asked about it, of course."

"Of course," she chuckles.

His smile soon fades, and he sits up to face her. He knows he shouldn't prolong this, prolong his pain, so he reaches into his back pocket and pulls out two folded envelopes. "Here," he says, handing them over, "these are for you."

"What are they?" she asks as she takes them.

"Your last check, for one. And, well, the other's a parting gift of sorts."

Regarding him curiously, she nevertheless slides a finger beneath the flap to open the envelope. She purses her lips as she takes out a small, folded note and reads it.

"I don't understand," she tells him softly. "An address?"

He frowns, struggling for how to explain this. He wanted to do something nice for her, but now he starts to worry whether this was too much, or worse yet – something she never wanted at all.

"Remember you told me a while back about your family, about how you haven't seen your sister in almost twenty years?" She nods, and he continues, "Well, Casey's got some NSA contacts, and I had him . . . find her. I thought, I thought you haven't seen her because you just lost touch, and I thought it was something I could do for you before you go, but maybe it wasn't right. I'm sorry if I've offended you or if you think I've overstepped my bounds or something. I just . . . I want you to be happy, Sarah."

"Chuck . . ." she breathes, still staring at the note in her shaking fingers. "That's the nicest thing anyone's ever done for me." She opens her mouth again, seems to want to say something more, but instead just says, "Thank you," in a quiet voice.

She leans into him a bit, and he lifts an arm around her shoulder. They may have had the strangest relationship in LA, but that doesn't make it less real.

**Just take me away from all that I am**

Chuck doesn't even look up from his place on the couch as Ellie walks in the door, dressed in scrubs, the day's mail in her hand. There's a bucket of cheese balls in his lap, a smear of orange around his mouth.

She stops in front of him and puts a hand on her hip. "Chuck," she says, "you were on that couch when I left this morning. Have you moved at all?"

"Needed more cheese balls," he murmurs.

It's only been a few days and already he's descending into an inescapable funk. He never imagined he'd miss her this much, but he finds himself remembering small things at the most unexpected moments – the turn of her neck, the sound of her laughter, the shimmer of sunlight on her hair in the early morning.

Ellie frowns. Taking a seat next to him, she sighs, "Look, Chuck, I know Sarah seemed amazing, and that you really cared for her, but you can't do this." When he doesn't respond right away, she puts a hand on his arm and continues, "Didn't Bryce offer to take you out on the town tonight? Why don't you go? There are lots of other girls out there, Chuck."

"Not like Sarah," he replies with a forlorn smile.

Ellie shakes her head. "Fine, Chuck, if you're so hung up on her, why don't you just go and get her back then?"

Chuck lets out a soft, rueful laugh. If only it were that easy. If only he were more like Bryce, who could sweep a girl off her feet with just a hint of that dazzling smile.

"It's complicated," he says.

"Complicated, my ass," Ellie responds, and he's surprised to look up and see her grinning. "That girl _loves_ you. And obviously you love her too. So you freaked her out a little. Just apologize. It goes a long way. She'll take you back; I know she will."

He sits up a little straighter, wipes his mouth with his sleeve. "Wait. What did you say?"

"I said she'd take you back. You're a catch, Chuck. You've got to realize that."

"No. No, before that."

Ellie regards him for a moment before smiling and saying, "She loves you. I know she does."

"But how? Did she ever talk to you?"

"Not exactly," she tells him, shaking her head. "But it's written all over her face. That girl is head over heels for you."

His heart sinks again. Sarah was playing a part the entire time Ellie knew her; of course she would _look_ like she loved him.

"I don't know, El . . ." he sighs, sitting back against the cushions.

Ellie's expression hardens. "Be a Bartowski, Charles. We don't give up, not on someone that important, not on someone we love."

She gets up quickly and heads for the kitchen, and it's a moment before he stirs, a moment before he realizes she's left the mail on the cushion beside him. Apathetically, he reaches for it and flips through, pulling out the envelopes address to him.

A few are bills, one magazine, but there's familiar scrawl on one envelope, and it bears no return address. His pulse speeds up suddenly, because he recognizes that hand, recognizes the loopy 'h' in his name. Cautiously, he breaks the seal.

Inside are checks, torn in half, the halves paperclipped together. He counts them quickly. Twelve pieces make six checks. Six torn-up checks, each for fifty grand, paid to Sarah Walker, signed by Charles Bartowski.

He nearly stops breathing. If she's never deposited his payments, then . . . then . . . There's only one reason why she wouldn't take his money.

Chuck launches himself off the couch. "I've got to go!" he shouts, on his way to the door.

"Wait, Chuck!" Ellie laughs. He veers around and looks at her expectantly. Still smiling, she points from his head to his toes and says, "Robe, shoes, shave."

When he looks down at himself, he realizes that he does indeed still have his robe on over boxer shorts and an undershirt. He's barefoot as well, and he reaches up to feel that he has at least two days' worth of stubble on his chin.

"Right," he smiles.

He doesn't want to lose a moment, but he can delay a few minutes in order to change into proper clothing and run a razor over his chin. He's pretty sure she'd prefer a well-dressed, nice-smelling, clean-shaven suitor.

In the end, he finds her on the pier. He'd taken her here for their third date, and she'd immediately fallen in love with the normalcy of it. Throughout their six months together, they'd made sure to come here at least once every couple weeks, whether to act like kids and play the games (which Sarah was better at, of course), or to binge on junk food, or just to look out on the ocean.

She's at the edge of the pier now, leaning against the railing, face toward the ocean. The late afternoon sun is dipping low in the sky, low enough to cast a glow on her already golden hair and throw the rest of her form into shadow. He pauses a few steps away, takes a moment to calm himself, to force the air in and out of his lungs.

"I thought you'd gone," he finally says.

Sarah turns, a soft smile on her lips, and he strides toward her.

Rolling a shoulder in a shrug, she says, "Me, too. But I found that I couldn't go." She frowns, then clarifies, "That I didn't want to."

"What happened to never staying in one place for too long?"

"I've decided that philosophy is a bit overrated."

He sighs, wanting to take the next step but so unsure of himself. "Why didn't you take the money?"

She looks up at him fondly, a smile touching her lips, and murmurs, "You know why. But I've never said it, have I?" Leaning into him, she says, "It's because I'm crazy about you, Charles Irving Bartowski, stupidly head over heels for you."

He suddenly feels as if a weight has been lifted from his shoulders, as if a vice has been loosened from his chest. He can stand taller, breathe easier. Cupping her face with a palm, he doesn't even attempt to keep the smile from his lips. "You could've just told me you wanted to stay."

Grinning widely, she retorts, "You could've just asked me to."

"I thought," he begins with a slight shake of his head as she tangles their fingers together, "I mean, I wasn't sure if you wanted me to." She frowns, but he explains, "Can you blame me for doubting it? I was paying you to like me, and I could only imagine the types of guys you usually date, guys like Bryce, not guys like me."

"Chuck," she breathes, "how many times do I have to tell you? You're not Bryce Larkin, but I don't care one whit about Bryce Larkin." She takes a step closer and tells him, "I care about Chuck Bartowski, because he is the kindest, sweetest, most amazing man I know. Bryce Larkin can't hold a candle to him, and I wish he could just _see_ that."

Chuck snakes his arms around her waist and presses his forehead to hers. "I think maybe he's starting to," he whispers.

"Good," she smile, leaning back to look at him, "because I'm fully expecting our next date-"

"You mean our first date?" he interrupts.

"Our second first date?" she ponders. "Whatever it is, I want it to be of the Chuck Bartowski variety. I don't need to be impressed by your high society friends or the fact that you can get a reservation at the hottest restaurant downtown."

"So, no pulling out my Charles Carmichael influence, huh?"

"Not even for a second."

"Duly noted," he smiles.

"As long as we're in the business of sharing feelings for a moment," she says almost shyly, "then you should know that no one's ever known this much about me. No one's really accepted me so unconditionally. In fact, they've rejected me for much less. So thank you, because no one's ever made me feel like this."

The confession renders him downright giddy, but he has no time for hysterics because she promptly drags him down for a knee-weakening kiss.

**Just take me away from all that I am  
Just take me away from all that I am . . .**

Chuck stumbles into the kitchen only to find Sarah, clad in nothing but his Dodgers t-shirt, waving a spatula as she whips up breakfast.

"Mmm," he murmurs, running a hand sleepily through his rumpled hair, "what is that I smell? Pancakes?"

"And bacon," she smiles as she spins around to face him. "And scrambled eggs."

"Wow, a feast fit for a king," he says as he crosses the kitchen to wrap his arms around her.

"Or one fit for my very real, very awesome boyfriend." She lifts herself on her toes to press a kiss to his lips. "Happy anniversary, Chuck."

Grinning, he asks, "So, is this our one-year anniversary or six-month?"

She smacks him gently in the shoulder with the spatula before turning to tend to the pancakes again. "Stop being a smart ass."

"What?" he laughs, holding up his hands in defense. "It's a legitimate question."

"Fine," she concedes with a chuckle of her own. "Then let's split the difference and call it nine months."

"Sounds good to me," he tells her. Stepping closer, he wraps his arms around her waist and rests his chin on her shoulder. "And just because you got the jump on me by being an early riser and getting an early start, don't think I'm not bringing the magic later on. Magic –" He brushes his lips against her cheek. "- is coming your way, baby."

Laughing softly and transferring a pancake from pan to plate, she reaches up her free hand to thread her fingers through his hair. "You know I wouldn't have it any other way."


	50. You and I Collide

**Title**: Collide

**Author**: brickroad16/inafadinglight

**Characters**: Sarah, Chuck, Ellie, Mama B, Carina, Morgan, Casey, Clara (aka, Lieutenant Awesome)

**Pairing**: C/S, of course

**Summary**: The week before the wedding, and a few days after, in the life of Sarah Walker.

**Disclaimer**: Song is Howie Day's "Collide," just to bring this beast full-circle. I own neither the song nor this show. I don't even own enough internet to get Comic Con coverage. :(

**A/N**: Here it is, guys. Here. it. is. It's hard to believe we've made it this far – the show has been chugging along for four seasons, and I've been chugging along for three and a half years now. But it's time to put this baby to rest. 50 chapters is a great number to wrap up with, especially since it's now difficult to update.

However, I want to thank every single person who has ever read a chapter of this story, especially those who reviewed. I truly appreciate your support and feedback. You're the best! And I want to tell you how lucky I feel to be part of this community, even if I don't get to hang around so much nowadays. I miss you guys a lot and think about you often! I'm fortunate to have met and befriended so many of you! I don't see many (if any) more _Chuck_ stories in my near future, but I hope we'll keep in touch!

Back in May, my little drabble _Target Practice_ won at the Awesome Awards. I haven't had a chance to thank you guys, so I wanted to take the opportunity to do so here. I really appreciate the fact that you remember such a small piece. :)

I also want to extend a huge thank-you to **wickedinsanity**, once again, for being my beta-er, posting proxy, and friend. The girl deserves a hand! Not only does she keep me updated on news, but she helps to keep me _sane_.

**Dedication**: This story wouldn't be possible without a number of people, including everyone who's beta-read for me over the chapters and everyone who's written me a review (whether positive or something along the lines of, "Are you kidding me? I hated this chapter!" :P). But most of all, it wouldn't be possible without my good friend **BillatWork**, who's shared ideas with me, offered me song suggestions, talked me through hiatuses, caught me up with season four, and generally just been a great friend. So this final chapter is for him.

* * *

The gentle night breeze cools her skin, calms her mind. Chuck would chastise her amusingly if he saw her out here, in the middle of the night, clad in only her boy shorts and a t-shirt. She takes a deep breath, inhaling the airy aroma of the flowers that fill the courtyard, and drops her hand into the fountain waters.

There's no spy mission on her mind, no worry about bad guys trying to take over the world. All that fills her is a soothing sense of peace. A smile plays over her lips, one that's been constantly there for weeks now. Because she's getting married in a week. One week, and she'll be Mrs. Charles Bartowski. Or, as she likes to tease him, he'll be Mr. Sarah Walker. She never thought they'd make it this far, and the knowledge that only a week separates them from a life of wedded bliss sends butterflies stirring in her stomach.

She looks up as Ellie walks into the courtyard, dressed in blue scrubs, a weary hand to her back as she stifles a yawn. The doctor tilts her head curiously when she catches sight of Sarah sitting on the fountain.

"What are you doing up so late?" she queries, taking a seat beside her soon-to-be sister-in-law.

Sarah shrugs. "Just . . . taking it all in, I suppose."

"Yep," Ellie nods with a tired chuckle, "pre-wedding contentment. I remember it well. Comes right before the jitters."

Sarah smiles. "Don't worry, I had my fair share of jitters this morning. Chuck, too."

"You seem fine now. What's the secret?"

"We did a dry run," she chuckles, confessing the memory of this morning, Chuck with his suit jacket over his pajamas, her with a table doily on her head as a makeshift veil.

Ellie lets out a laugh. "That was Chuck's idea, wasn't it?"

"How'd you know?" Quietly, she adds, "But it helped a lot."

Ellie sighs and regards her knowingly. "If there's anything you need to talk about, Sarah, I'm right here. And I'm not saying that because I'm the maid of honor. I'm saying it because you're my friend, and you're about to be my sister."

Sarah feels a contented warmth settle upon her as Ellie slides an arm around her. It's been so long since she's had a sister, so long since she's thought about her own, and the embrace stirs a part of her she thought she'd tucked away for good. Then again, the Bartowskis have a keen talent for drawing the forgotten past from her. But sitting on the fountain under the stars next to the woman she may soon call 'sister', Sarah finds that she doesn't mind.

During the planning, what had scared her most about this wedding was _family_ – the Bartowskis' overwhelming desire to include everyone in theirs, and the complicated estrangement of hers. But here she is, a week before her wedding, with a fiancé and a sister and genuine friends surrounding her, and, even though she is no closer to figuring out her own family situation, she's _happy_. She's happier than a woman like her deserves to be, happier than she ever thought she could be, given the way she grew up and the career she fell into.

"You know, Ellie," she murmurs, "there's nothing I need to talk about. Absolutely nothing. Because everything's perfect, and, God, I don't even want to go to sleep because I don't want to miss a moment of it."

"Oh, honey," Ellie says with a soft, lilting laugh, "I knew you were in love but I didn't know it was this bad."

Sarah simply grins. "That's not my fault, though, is it? Blame it on your brother."

"Blame him? For finding a wonderful woman who makes him ridiculously happy, and for bringing you into this family so that I now have a sister as well as a little brother, and for the two of you growing into this perfect, amazing couple? No, I think I'll thank him instead."

"Me, too."

**The dawn is breaking  
A light shining through  
You're barely waking  
And I'm tangled up in you**

Sarah looks up in surprise as Ellie, Awesome, _and_ Chuck all leave the living room at the same time, as if on cue. She'd been too engrossed in Lieutenant Awesome, reclining happily in her baby carrier on the sofa, too engrossed in trying to make her laugh to pay much attention to the reason they've all departed at once. She turns back to the baby and lets her grasp a hold of her forefinger.

"Well, Clara," she breathes, "only three more days before I'm officially your aunt. What do you think about that?"

Clara gurgles smilingly, which she takes as a good sign.

"I'm not very good at baby stuff," she confesses, "or family stuff, really. I think that's why they only leave me alone with you for five minutes at a time." Clara goes quiet, her eyes wide as she stares up at Sarah's face. Sarah leans in conspiratorially and whispers, "However, I've had it from a reliable source that if this goes well, they'll bump me up to eight minutes. I know. I'm excited, too."

She swings Clara's arm back and forth gently, the baby's fingers fastened tightly around hers.

"It seems as if all I've been lately is excited," she tells her niece with a smile. "I'm not exactly the type of girl who plans on getting married, or even thinks about it. But your Uncle Chuck is pretty amazing, and the day I met him, he taught me how to think differently. "

Clara frowns, and Sarah experiences a sudden, brief nervousness. She doesn't like when Clara frowns, or shows any sign of unhappiness, and she likes when Ellie or Awesome are on hand in case the frowns turn into cries. A bit hesitantly, she reaches into the carrier and, gently, slides her arms under the baby to hoist her out. Clara's smile returns as she settles in her arms against her chest.

"Have I ever told you about how your uncle and I met? No, I don't think I have. Well, it started with a computer called the Intersect. Your uncle got it stuck in his head, and the CIA sent me to get it back. So I came out to California, to the Burbank Buy More, to find a Nerd Herd computer repair tech." She pauses at this part of the story, her mouth dry at the memory of their first meeting. "The first time I saw him, I thought he was a huge nerd," she confesses. "He had this curly hair, and he wore a pocket protector, which I actually think is sort of sexy now, and he was absolutely nothing like most of the men I knew. He was cute, but didn't know he was. He was honest, and _proud _of it. And he had this adorable, nervous rambling thing he did. He still does it actually."

She stops to give Clara a good rock. A thoughtful frown plays over her lips. So much had happened then, in just a few nights. She still finds it hard to believe how quickly her world changed, how quickly she went from badass superspy to badass superspy crossed in love with her asset. A few shy smiles, a few nervous jokes, a few genuine words were all it took to bring the great Sarah Walker's defenses crashing to the ground. Back then, she had thought it was the end of the world, the end of her career. Now, though, she knows meeting him was the best thing that could ever happen to her.

With a deep breath, she returns to the story. "Well, we went out on a date. He took me to a Mexican restaurant, and then we went out dancing, and then we got chased by Uncle Casey and his NSA men. I crashed Uncle Chuck's car. And, well, it's actually sort of a long story, but it ends with Uncle Chuck as the hero, as he has certainly proved himself to be since then. He diffused a bomb. I won't tell you how until you're at least 13 probably, but he was incredible, just incredible." She smiles again, tweaks her niece's nose. "And somewhere in all that spy mess, I fell in love. Of course, it took me two-and-a-half years to ever admit it, but spy habits die quite hard, you know."

She looks down into Clara's smiling face, feeling that familiar tug that always comes whenever her niece is in her arms, that tug that tells her that those certain habits are truly dead, never to return. And in their place, new ones are forming. She and Chuck have new habits now, ones that revolve around their relationship, their family.

"And you know something, Lieutenant?" she murmurs. "I don't mind at all."

**I'm open, you're closed**  
**Where I'll follow you'll go**  
**I worry I won't see your face**  
**Light up again**

She's still groggy when she opens her eyes, but she's had enough rest in the past two days to last a lifetime and she doesn't want to sleep anymore. Early evening light streams in through the hospital window, casting a golden glow over the room.

She's been in and out of consciousness since Chuck, her knight in camouflage, had raced in with the antidote, but there had always been a crowd in her room, her family sitting and waiting protectively. Now, though, there's only one person, who sits in the corner, staring at her quietly.

She stirs woozily and pushes herself into a sitting position. Mary gets up to pour her a glass of water, which she accepts gratefully, before taking a seat again.

As Sarah looks at her, she fears that their relationship will always be one of grudging, mutual respect. But even as she thinks it, she realizes that's not how she wants it to be. This is Chuck and Ellie's mom, her fiancé's _mother_, and that's a relationship she needs to cultivate. She and Chuck made a decision early in their relationship – family is what matters most at the end of the day.

"Thanks," she says tentatively, her voice still scratchy from sleep.

Mary offers a calm smile. "I meant what I said at the engagement party, you know, every word." When Sarah doesn't reply right away, she continues, "You're good for my son, for the whole family actually. And . . . I'm very glad that you're okay."

Sarah feels a smile tugging at her tired lips. She takes another sip of water to wet her throat and says, "You were right, too, about us taking care of each other." And now she does smile, because she never had someone who took care of her – who _wanted_ to take care of her –until she met Chuck, and, even sitting in this hospital bed recovering from poison, she's never felt luckier.

"Well, it's a good thing you two have each other then, isn't it?" Mary asks rhetorically, and Sarah can see in her gaze everything she means behind the simple statement.

They're both perfectly aware of how differently this could have turned out. She could have been ordered to put him in a bunker that very first day, or even to terminate him, as if she could've carried out that command even after a day. He could have decided that spy life wasn't for him at all, decided that a normal life was what he was after, one which didn't include her. Their paths could have diverged after the Intersect 2.0 download, diverged for longer than just six months.

Or worse, he never could have opened that email, meaning she never would have met him at all. They may have even crossed paths once or twice in their lifetimes, and she never would have realized that her soul mate – and when did she start believing in that concept anyway? – that her soul mate just passed her on the street, or sat next to her at a restaurant, or fixed her broken phone.

So many turning points in their relationship, and yet they've managed to make it out on the other side with barely a scratch.

She sits up a little straighter, looks her soon-to-be mother-in-law in the eye, and says, "I'd say it's a good thing we've all got each other."

Surprisingly, Mary leans forward to slide her hand on top of hers. And Sarah, with her broken home and her unconventional childhood and her unemotional career choice, knows she's finally part of a true family, however unusual it may be. 

**Even the best fall down sometimes**  
**Even the wrong words seem to rhyme**  
**Out of the doubt that fills my mind**  
**I somehow find you and I collide**

Sarah smiles as Morgan appears in the door of the back room of the church, where she and her bridesmaids are getting ready for the ceremony. They file out with encouraging looks as he steps aside to let them through the door and into the hallway. He grins at her as he walks toward her, and she has to admit that he looks very, very handsome in his tux.

She has the sudden, intense feeling that their lives are all falling into place. She's about to marry his best friend, the love of her extremely unusual life, and he's got a girlfriend of his own, a girl who adores him as steadily as he does her. It's an odd yet sweet relationship, one which makes her smile when she catches them in a rare quiet moment. With all the craziness and chaos in their lives, they haven't actually had that much opportunity to get to know each other. But now that things have calmed down, she looks forward to having him in her life, as a friend, one of the best.

Morgan's grinning when he takes her hands in his. "Sarah, Sarah, Sarah," he mutters. "May I just say, you look absolutely gorgeous. Not that you don't every single day, but today, especially gorgeous."

"Thank you, Morgan," she says, reaching out to straighten his tie. "You look pretty handsome yourself."

"Ah, thank you. It's a wonder what a little confidence can do, isn't it?"

"Amazing."

"Well, you've probably already guessed that the Chuckster sent me to make sure you're doing all right, that you've got everything you need. Because, Sarah, I'm serious. Tell me you need a submachine gun or a one of those planes that turns into a boat or a coded message in the DJ's turntables or something, anything, and I'll get it for you, I swear. I may no longer be CIA, but I'm still rocking some important connections."

"You are, as always, Morgan, the best man," she tells him truthfully, "but I don't need any of that. I'm actually planning on nothing at all spy-related happening today."

"Right-O. And you have my full support in that, soon-to-be soul sister."

"How's Chuck doing?"

She's calm, collected, because she's learned that happiness isn't something to be nervous about. Not to mention she's had years of training. But Chuck isn't like that. He lets his emotions fly right out to the surface for everyone to see, and she can imagine him standing up in front of that crowd, palms moist as he adjusts his cufflinks for the twentieth time, Devon coaching him through calming breathing techniques.

To her surprise, Morgan chuckles. "Chuck? Chuck's the calmest I've ever seen him, and this is the guy who breaks a sweat when he thinks a TV character's in trouble, and that's just when we're watching _reruns_."

"Good," she nods thoughtfully. "Good."

He tilts his head. "And you're doing all right, too, right? Because I gotta give my report to your guy and I wanna tell him everything, down to the last details."

"Well, you can tell him that I'm . . . I'm ready."

She says it with a smile which grows into a grin as Morgan pulls her into a bear hug, and then the grin bursts into a laugh.

"So am I," he tells her happily. "So am I."

They _are_ ready. They're all ready to grow up and start the lives they were meant to lead all along, hand-in-hand with people who inspire them to be better than they are, and side-by-side with the family who makes them whole again.

When he finally releases her, Sarah looks at him, still smiling, and says, "I know we haven't spent that much time together, but I hope that'll change. And I hope you know that . . . I really _like_ having you as a friend."

Waving off her compliment, he exclaims, "Sarah, come on! You and I? Besties." He stops, his face falling a bit, before he adds, "Don't tell Casey, though. He's the jealous kind."

"I won't," she laughs. "I promise."

**I'm quiet, you know  
You make a first impression  
I've found I'm scared to know  
I'm always on your mind**

Sarah grins knowingly as her redheaded bridesmaid stalks up to her and hands over her bridal bouquet.

"So," Carina begins, a gleam in her eye, "are you ready to pull the proverbial trigger on this?"

"It'd be nice if you stopped acting like this were the end of my life," she tells her friend teasingly.

Carina throws up a hand in protest. "I'm not! God knows relationships and marriage aren't for me at all, but it seems to work for you and the kid." Her expression softens as she bumps Sarah on the shoulder. "In fact, I'm sort of . . . sort of proud of you."

"Oh, yeah?" Sarah chuckles. "Why's that?"

"I've known you for how long now? And I don't think I've ever heard you say one thing about your _feelings_. And look at you now, all dressed in white and not even a spy anymore and _happy_ about it."

Sarah waves her flowers in her friend's face. "Carina, is that . . . _jealousy_ I hear?"

"Please," Carina puffs as she pushes the flowers away playfully. "I've been good for all of this. I'm even wearing this silly dress for you. Don't mock me by pretending I want the same things out of life as you do."

"Fine, but you're happy for me, right?"

Carina is quiet for a moment, regarding her oldest friend reflectively, before pursing her lips and admitting, "Freaking ecstatic. You happy now?"

And Sarah lets out a peal of delighted laughter.

Carina, smiling now too, adds, "It is sort of a shame that Martin's got a girlfriend now though. _Star Wars_ sheets aside, he's actually turned out pretty well. Confident and gentlemanly and all that."

Sarah lifts a warning eyebrow. "But you've learned your lesson, right? Morgan and Alex have a good thing, and you're not going to ruin it."

"I know, I know," Carina assures her, and it's almost assuring. "I won't go near that freaky little dwarf relationship." She levels a finger at Sarah. "But your dear fiancé, or at least his sister and brother-in-law, better have _some_ cute friends. What's a wedding without a little shameless flirting?"

"And flirting's all you'll be doing, right, Carina?" Sarah asks. "_Right, Carina_?"

"Oh, come on. That wedding in Spain was a mission, remember?" she protests as Sarah laughs. "Remember?"

But Sarah just laughs it off, because she's got one of her best friends here, and even with all her grousing and teasing and protesting, it's just really _good_ to share this day with her.

**Even the best fall down sometimes**  
**Even the stars refuse to shine**  
**Out of the back you fall in time**  
**Somehow find you and I collide**

Sarah's gaze is drawn towards the back archway of the church as Casey appears, tugging his suit jacket into place, his daughter hanging onto his arm with a smile. They stop, and Alex straightens his collar before leaning up on her tiptoes to press a kiss to his cheek. A hint of a smile appears on Casey's face, and then she pushes him off towards the waiting bridal party.

He doesn't say anything as he steps up beside her, but that small smile lingers, and Sarah has to grin, because she can vividly recall what they were like four years ago, both cut from the same mold. They were agency people, duty-minded and terrified of letting another person into the lonely little world they'd each created. But then they met Chuck Bartowski, who broke them down little by little, day by day, joke by joke, until they let in friendship and let in family and let in love. As he stands beside her, he in his tuxedo and she in her white gown, she realizes how amazingly far they've both come, that there's no one else she'd rather have made this journey with. It's been years now since she's counted him as a much more than a partner, but a close friend, even an older brother.

"Are you ready for this, Casey?" she asks.

He lets out a throaty chuckle that could pass for one of his famous grunts. "Shouldn't I be asking you that?"

She turns to face him, though he's still looking out at the crowd gathered in the church. "I don't know," she answers contemplatively. "I think my fate was decided the day Chuck and I met. It was just a matter of us deciding that we were more important than everything surrounding us. But you, you've always been country over self."

"I just held out longer," he says. Turning to regard her appraisingly, he continues, "Doesn't mean I'm not ready to see the best damn partner I ever had finally be happy."

He holds her gaze for a long moment, and Sarah feels a lump growing in her throat. But Casey isn't a Bartowski, effusive and gushing and always talking about his feelings. No, he keeps them close to his chest, and it's an honor when he lets anyone catch even a glimpse of them, even though those glimpses are becoming more and more frequent these days, with Alex around. Still, he's Casey, and their relationship isn't one marked by deep, heart-to-heart talks. It's just not who they are.

So instead of saying something heartfelt, like Ellie or even Chuck would have, she teases, "The best? Are you sure? You've also been Morgan Grimes's partner."

He grunts another soft laugh. "Two completely different experiences, I assure you."

Laughing, she says, "I can imagine. But maybe this isn't the end." Off his curious look, she explains, "It doesn't have to be just me and Chuck, and you and Morgan. I know we're in a bit of a spot right now, but we'll figure something out. We'll be a team again."

Casey nods, a smile tugging at his lips again. "Sounds good to me." He clears his throat and holds out his arm for her. "But first, we gotta get you two married."

Before she takes his arm, she says, "I never thanked you for agreeing to walk me down the aisle, did I?"

"Of course you did. Right after you asked me and I said I would."

Of course she had said 'thank you', but she doesn't mean that. "No, I never thanked you properly, though," she insists, leaning forward to wrap him in a tight hug.

He stiffens instinctually at first, but then his arms slide around her as he returns the embrace. And then they break apart, and Casey's gaze darts around as he straightens his jacket again, as if making sure no one has caught his demonstration of affection for his friend.

"You're welcome," he says softly.

No longer fighting the grin, Sarah links her arm through his as her bridesmaids line up in front of them.

"Oh, and Casey?"

"Hmm?"

"Don't freak out."

**Don't stop here  
I lost my place  
I'm close behind**

Silence descends in the limo after they open Volkoff's gift, and Sarah rests her head comfortably against her husband's shoulder.

_Her husband_, she thinks with a smile. It's taken them so long to get to this point that she finds it nearly unbelievable that she's sitting here, in the back of a limo, dressed in the most gorgeous white gown she's ever beheld, one that makes her feel like a princess, beside the man she adores, who adores her.

"Is this really happening?" she murmurs happily.

Chuck, grinning, shifts so his embrace is more comfortable, and says, "I know. It feels unreal, right?"

"Completely."

She takes his hand in hers, runs her thumb tenderly over his knuckles as she looks out the window at the passing scenery. Her thumb pauses in its exploration when it reaches his wedding band, the metal warm beneath her skin.

"What are you thinking about?" he asks softly, dropping a kiss in her hair.

She tilts her head to look up at him. "Mmm, what are _you_ thinking about?"

"Fine, I'll go first," he chuckles. "I am thinking . . . about getting to spend every day of the rest of my life with you, waking up beside you, watching you brush your teeth, snuggling on the couch together. I'm thinking about how every single moment from now on is going to be so, so perfect."

A smile grows on Sarah's lips as he leans forward to kiss her, and she reaches up to place a palm against his cheek.

"Your turn," he teases when they break apart.

"Fine," she says with an exaggerated sigh, repositioning herself against him. Quietly, in that quiet voice she uses when she confesses all her secrets to him, she tells him, "I'm just thinking about how lucky I am, how lucky _we_ are."

He intertwines their fingers. "Is it luck, though?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean," he says with a little confused shrug, "finding a twenty dollar bill on the sidewalk is luck. Getting an extra eggroll with your sizzling shrimp is luck. Getting the last copy of a game before the store sells out is luck. But what we've done, surviving spy life for four years, falling in love and making a relationship even with all the obstacles we've encountered, maybe that's something else entirely."

She lets out a thoughtful hum as she considers his words. She's never stopped to think about it like that. After all she's experienced in her life, she'd simply assumed that it couldn't be anything _other_ than luck that helped her to overcome her past and even her present in order to make it to this future with him. Maybe he's right. Maybe it's not luck at all. Maybe it's just faith and hard work and _love_.

"You mean something like love?" she asks.

Chuck smiles, that adorable smile she fell so hard for. "Isn't that what life boils down to anyways? The people we care about, the things we do, the decisions we make . . . it's all about love."

"If you would have asked me four years ago, I would've told you that I didn't believe in love."

"And if _you_'d have asked _me_ four years ago, I would've said all it's good for is breaking your heart."

She smiles up at him, her thumb running along his cheek. "So maybe it _was_ luck that we met the exact right person to change our minds."

"Maybe," he murmurs contentedly. "Maybe we'll never know."

Staring up into her husband's warm brown eyes, she says, "Whatever it was that brought us together, I'm glad it did. And I intend on making the most of it."

Chuck's grin grows before he leans down to kiss her once more, and her heart swells at the pure love that bursts between them.

**Even the best fall down sometimes  
Even the wrong words seem to rhyme  
Out of the doubt that fills your mind  
You finally find you and I collide**

Early morning sunlight streams in through the open curtains of their bedroom window in their French honeymoon villa, but Sarah's already awake, has been for an hour at least, just staring at the man beside her.

He's sleeping soundly, his chest rising and falling in an easy, comforting rhythm. His face is turned toward her, even in sleep, and there's the barest hint of a smile on his lips, as if he's having pleasant dreams.

_This isn't real, this isn't real, this isn't real_, she tells herself over and over again. But it is. It _is_, and she's lying next to her husband, and nothing – no spy rules or missions or secrets or the heart she'd locked away for so long – nothing is going to get in the way of that. She knows it's real because of the elated fuzziness that threatens to explode from her chest, and the way she can't stop grinning, and the way bright rays of sunshine glint off the rings on her left hand.

She reaches out to trace a finger over his brow, to brush a stray lock behind his ear. He stirs slightly, but doesn't awaken. With a long, soft sigh, she lies back down and turns her face toward him.

This is the first day of the rest of her life, she realizes with a smile, the rest of _their_ life. A life where they make their own rules and call their own shots, a life where they decide what matters, and what matters is always going to be their relationship above all else. Because she's spent so long putting duty before desire, but he's proven to her that they can coexist. They can make this work. They _will_ make this work. Not because they're Sarah Walker and Charles Carmichael, spies extraordinaire, but because they're Chuck and Sarah Bartowski, bonded for life by heart and by law.

Just as that thought crosses her mind, he wakes up, blinking blearily at her.

"Hey," he murmurs groggily, scooting closer to slide an arm around her waist. "Good morning, Mrs. Bartowski."

Smiling radiantly, she lets him gather her up in his arms and press a sleepy, happy kiss to her lips.

"Good morning, Chuck," she murmurs back with another sigh, letting the contentment fill her up.

"How's my wife this morning?" he asks, grinning now.

She reaches up to lay a palm against his cheek and whispers, "Perfect. Just perfect."

**You finally find**

**You and I collide**

Sarah feels a familiar warmth curl in her stomach as Chuck slides his arms around her shoulders. She smiles, but doesn't turn as she types away at the Castle main computer.

"Whatcha working on?" he queries lightly. "Is this our first official, unofficial, independent mission?"

"Actually," she begins, and the way she says it makes him slide down in the swivel chair beside her to regard her intently, "this is just a little personal thing, now that we've got all these resources at our disposal."

"Oh, yeah?" His foot nudges at hers, and a supportive smile plays over his lips. "Are you going to tell me about it, or are you going to make me seduce it out of you? Do I have to remind you how adorable I am?"

She twirls in her chair to face him, arms crossed and smirking. "No, I think I'm perfectly aware of that, thank you."

"Are you sure?" he asks, leaning forward so that his nose nearly touches hers. "Because I wouldn't mind jogging your memory."

She's giggling as he sneaks a kiss and she sweeps a hand through his hair, but she sobers when she pushes him gently away. He gazes at her steadily, and she feels that inviting cushion of comfort that he always provides. His brown eyes are deep, soothing, let her know she can spill all her secrets to him and still be loved.

After a deep breath, she asks, "Do you remember how I told you my family situation was . . . complicated?" Their favorite word, really. He nods, patient for once and letting her speak, and she continues, "The wedding, it made me think a lot about family, about _our_ family, about mine."

When she has trouble explaining further, he prompts gently, "And?"

"And, well, you know what my relationship with my father is like. But the truth is I haven't spoken to anyone else for so long. Our family was a broken one, and when I was with my father, I felt like they wouldn't want to reconnect with a long lost daughter or sister or granddaughter who was a con artist. I was happy, too. And then after I joined the CIA, I had to leave that all behind. I couldn't think about it anymore."

"But now, no more CIA," he says, gathering her hands in his.

"Exactly," she smiles. "And now that we're no longer slaves to duty, now that we can focus on family, I think it may be time to . . . find what I've been missing all these years."

"Okay," he nods, and she can see the excitement shining behind his eyes. "So, where do we start?"

"You're going to help me?" She knows the answer, but she likes to hear him say it anyways.

"Of course," he grins. "You helped me put my family back together. Now it's time for me to help you do the same for yours. So, do we have a place to start?"

"Well," she begins, twirling his fingers in hers, "I want to find my sister."

Chuck starts a little, because she hasn't mentioned anything about her sister since the first few weeks of their cover dating, back when he doubtlessly took most of her stories as falsities, just little lies told to shore up her backstory and their fake relationship.

But then he nods, gazing intently at her, and she knows they're in this together. Family above all, is what they've decided, and that's what will carry them through.

He spins in his chair to face the computer and lifts his hands to crack his knuckles like he always does before having a crack at a computer or a video game. "So," he says brightly, "your spy skills, my unique cleverness. This should be a piece of cake."

Sarah rolls her eyes slightly at his antics, but she can't stop the affection that swoops into her heart. Yep, that's her guy, and together, they're going to put their family back together.


End file.
